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pucksandpower · 3 hours ago

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Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts — serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

493 notes · View notes

harryslittlefreakk · 2 days ago

Text

off limits

summary: planning your brother’s birthday turns into crossing a line with his best friend. everyone say thank you @bethiegurl19 for the request!!!

wordcount: 4.5k

warnings: angst, smut (foreplay, protected sex)

a/n: back with a bang baby!!!!!

masterlist 😋🌷🫧🍒 taglist

“You’re not bringing him.”

“You can’t dictate that.”

“Yes I can.”

“No, Harry, you can’t. It’s my house, my brother, and my-.” Your voice trailed off, not knowing what you could actually call Matt. Harry knew as well as you did that he wasn’t your boyfriend, he was the man who bothered with you when his other options were busy.

“Jake doesn’t even like him,” Harry muttered, his jaw flexing as he spoke.

“Neither of you will ever like who I date while you still see me as a kid,” you shot back, standing up too fast, feeling the wine rush to your head as you turned your back on Harry. It was the fourth night you’ve gotten together to try and plan your brother‘s birthday, the fourth night Harry had fought you about Matt.

“It’s not about that. He’s an arse and everyone sees it except you.”

You rested your elbows on the counter, rubbing at your temples. “It’s not your place to see it. But fine. I won’t invite him,” you sighed, hating that you were giving in to Harry.

“Good,” Harry all but growled, downing the rest of his wine in one sip.

“And I don’t still see you as a kid,” he added, walking over to you, his hand brushing your side as he reached for a new bottle of wine. His touch was light, barely even there, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, heat blossoming against your skin. You could feel his presence next to you, close enough that the scent of his cologne mixed with the dry oaky smell of the wine on his breath. He hesitated for the briefest second, his hand lingering near your side. But even if he had noticed the way you’d gone totally rigid, he didn’t say anything.

You moved away slightly, trying to focus on the wine splashing into the glasses in front of you, the walls of the glass stained pink from Harry’s sloppy pouring, ignoring the way your skin buzzed in the aftermath of his touch. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, your mood worse.

“You’re not even pouring it right,” you muttered, snapping at Harry before you could stop yourself.

His head turned, and you could feel his eyes on you as he straightened, the bottle still in his hand.

“Pouring it right?”, he laughed, that fucking smirk tugging at his lips. It boiled your blood.

You turned to lean your hip against the counter, grabbing the bottle from his grip.

Harry let out another low, frustrated laugh, raking a hand through his long curls as he turned towards you fully.

“Relax,” he said finally, pulling the bottle back slamming it back down on the counter. “You’ve been on my case all week. The decorations, the music – you fought me on every single thing. What, because I don’t like your little boyfriend?”

You froze as Harry stepped closer, his tense frame towering over you. His green eyes were locked on yours, sharp and darkened in his frustration.

“Tell me then. What the fuck are you even doing with a guy like Matt?” His voice was low and biting, but not teasing in the way you’d grown to expect.

Your jaw clenched, your throat dry as your hands reached behind you to grip onto the edge of the counter. “You don’t know him,” was all you managed to say.

“Yes I do, y/n. I went to school with him. Jake went to school with him. And I’ve seen enough of him to know he hasn’t changed at all,” Harry shot back, his voice rising.

“It’s none of your business! I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. I don’t need either of you to protect me anymore,” you shouted, glaring at Harry.

“You never needed our protection. But look at you! You’re trying to pick a fight because I don’t think your hook up should be at Jake’s party. Is he even worth it?”

Your stomach twisted at Harry’s words, heat flooding your cheeks. You knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if despite all of Matt’s other flaws, of which there were many, he was a good enough fuck for you to keep him around.

“It’s worth it just to piss you off,” you mumbled.

Harry ran a hand over his face, looking straight through you as he laughed. “You’ve wasted a year fucking him because it pisses me off?”

“I’m not discussing that with you.”

“Why not? Because you don’t want to admit that’s the entire reason you carried on seeing him? Or because you don’t want to admit that he isn’t even a good fuck?”

You opened your mouth to spit something back at Harry, but nothing came out. Harry clearly knew you better than you thought, and no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t.

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed. That same irritating look of amusement was still on Harry’s face as he looked down at you.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice low, his eyes flickering to your lips where they lingered for just a second before snapping back to your eyes.

You hated him in that moment. For being right, for knowing you so well, for backing you into a corner you couldn’t see a way out of. But more than anything you hated how your body was reacting to him, the way his closeness made your heart race.

You wanted to punch him, to shove him out of your house and never see him again. But when your hand reached out towards Harry, it betrayed you, gripping at his t-shirt and pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.

It was all the confirmation he needed. His lips were on yours, rough and urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally couldn’t anymore. For a split second, you froze, your mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. But then his hands were on your waist, pulling you even closer.

You kissed him back without thinking, your hands clutching at the cotton of his t-shirt as if you needed to hold on to something to keep from falling. His body pressed against yours, his warmth searing into you, that big wall of muscle pushing against your front.

Harry groaned against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he backed you up against the counter. The edge of it pressed into your lower back, but you didn’t care. All you could care about was him - the way his lips moved against yours, the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way he tasted like wine and heat and something unmistakably Harry.

He stepped back, running a hand through his curls, his breathing uneven as his eyes darted between your face and the floor. His lips were red and swollen, and you couldn’t look at him without feeling like the world had tilted sideways. He stared at you, his eyes dark and wild, his hands still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes were still dark and locked onto yours. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”

“I should go,” he said quietly after a minute, his voice hoarse and full of something you couldn’t quite place.

Your chest tightened, but you nodded, your arms wrapping around yourself in a futile attempt to fill the sudden ache his words created. “Yeah,” you said softly, avoiding his eyes. “You should.”

For a moment, he hesitated, like he was waiting for you to stop him. But you didn’t. You just stood there, rooted in place as he turned toward the door. He didn’t look back as he left, and the soft click of the door shutting behind him felt deafening.

You let out a breath, leaning back against the counter as you tried to gather your thoughts. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, your skin still warm where his hands had held you, and you hated how empty the room felt without him. You hated that you even wanted him to stay and kiss you again.

The thought hit you like a wave, but you shook it off, forcing yourself to push away the longing that crept into your chest. He was gone, and it was already messy. It didn’t need to go deeper.

But when the knock at the door came, your heart leapt into your throat, and before you could even process what you were doing, you were pulling it open.

Harry stood there, his hand braced on the doorframe, his eyes dark as they met yours. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like he was fighting an internal battle he’d already lost.

“I couldn’t go,” he said finally, his voice rough.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because he was stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him as his hands found your waist. He pulled you to him, wrapping your legs around his hips as he pinned you against the wall, his lips finding yours with a desperate, hungry urgency that left you breathless.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with frustration as his hands gripped your thighs. “You know that?”

“You’re the one who came back,” you shot back, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time.

“Yeah, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck, sending a shiver racing through you. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how I’m right. Matt isn’t enough for you, is he?”

Your breath hitched, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. “Don’t—”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his words hit far too close to the truth. “You’re so full of yourself,” you snapped, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling under the weight of his presence.

Harry smirked, his hands tightening on your hips as he carried you toward your bedroom, not breaking eye contact. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice dripping with confidence. “But I’m not wrong, am I?”

You didn’t answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But the heat in your cheeks and the way you clung to him told him everything he needed to know.

By the time he reached your bedroom, your resolve was gone, replaced by a desperate ache in your core that only he could seem to satisfy. He laid you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady.

And as his lips found yours again, his green eyes locked onto yours for just a split second, looking at you in a way that showed you both permission and forgiveness.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harry whispered, his words muffled against your mouth, the scent of the wine warm against your skin.

“I can handle it,” you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“Say you’ll tell me,” he repeated, firm and commanding.

“I’ll tell you,” you echoed, heat spreading through your body as he planted his hands either side of your head, caging you in.

The silver rings on his fingers caught the lone beam of moonlight streaming through the curtains, the chilled metal brushing against your skin as he moved closer still. Your gaze follow the lines of his tattoos, the dark ink curling up his forearm, disappearing under the pushed-up sleeve of his t-shirt.

Harry‘s mouth moved from yours to the curve of your neck, his lips brushing over your wild pulse with a deliberate slowness. His teeth grazed your skin, a contrast to the soft flex of his tongue as he kissed his way down, and you couldn’t stop the quiet whimper that slipped past your lips.

“Think you finally ran out of shit to say,“ he teased, his hand shifting to wrap your leg around his hip, his touch firm and possessive as he pressed himself against you.

The hardness of him against your inner thigh made your head spin, the friction of his jeans against the thin cotton of your leggings burning into you. You rolled your lower lip into your mouth, trying to suppress the moan threatening to escape as his hips rolled against yours, his cock pushing against you.

“These jeans,“ you whispered, your voice breathy as your hand slid between your bodies, tugging at their skin-tight waistband. “I hate them.”

“D’you really?” Harry asked, his voice laced with that same teasing amusement as he moved back off the bed. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure they’re driving you crazy right now.“

You glared up at him, your lips pulled into a reluctant smirk, waiting on your brain to form some sort of comeback. Instead, you pushed up onto your knees, grabbing at Harry‘s t-shirt until his lips crashed back onto yours in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and frustration.

Harry groaned into your mouth, the sound low and guttural as it echoed through you, his hands roaming over your body, sliding beneath your t-shirt. His touch left trails of fire and goosebumps in its wake, your back arching into him, your fingers curling into his hair.

“D’you want me to stop?“ he murmured against your lips.

“No,“ you breathed, your lips brushing against his before his mouth captured yours again. More insistent now, his fingers splayed across the curve of your waist. Your world was spinning with every touch, your every thought consumed by him – his taste, his scent, the way his lean frame press against yours like even an inch of empty space between you would be too much.

He let you part for just a second, just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his eyes somehow darkening even further as they roamed the skin that had, until then, been off limits to him. His breath hitched, his fingers skimming along the soft lace of your bra. He took his time, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

��Even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his voice gravelly yet almost silent, as if he wasn’t saying that to you, but to himself.

Your eyebrows quirked in questioning as his eyes snapped back to yours, something dangerous in the depths of darkened greens. “More than I should’ve,” he confessed, leaning down to press his lips to the sharp angle of your collarbone. “Much more.“

His confession sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your fingers finding their way back to his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth continued down your body.

When his fingers slipped into the waistband of your leggings, he paused, pushing you softly back down onto the bed, his eyes boring into you. “I need to hear you say you want this,“ he said, pushing his free hand through his curls.

“I want this,” you breathed without hesitation. “I want you.”

That was the final confirmation he needed, his hands never leaving your skin as he stripped away the barriers between you, first the remainder of your clothes, and then his.

When he finally pulled his shirt off, you let your eyes wander over his body, drinking in the sharp lines of his torso, the way his tattoos rose and fell with his breathing. You kept your gaze on his body as he kicked off those damn jeans and his underwear, Letting yourself appreciate the soft smack of his cock against his flesh as he freed it, something your teenage self was sure to thank you for.

You felt your eyes wide and slightly as you registered his size, your breath catching in your throat.

But Harry only smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, his hand sliding under you to cut the back of your neck as his body settled over yours. His weight, his heat, the feel of his skin against yours – it was overwhelming.

“I told you he wasn’t enough for you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him once again that he was arrogant, but his hand slid between your thighs, and the words died on your tongue.

You let out a strangled gasp of his name, your head falling back into the pillows as the part of his thumb worked at your clit.

“Say it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Say I’m better for you than he is.”

You wanted to fight him, to deny him and take him down a notch, but all you could do was whimper against his skin, your body arching into his touch as heat pooled in your core.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his lips trailing across all the skin they could reach, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The roughness of his hands contrasted with the gentle touch of his movements, intoxicating and addictive as his hips ground against yours.

“You’re already so worked up for me,” he muttered, his voice almost a growl as he pushed two fingers into you. “All this time, y’just needed to be fucked right.”

“Shut up,” you managed to bite back, losing the edge to your voice as his fingers flexed against your sweet spot.

Harry chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh that sent shivers down your spine. “That’s why you get so riled up. Because every time I fight you about Matt, you’re thinking about this.”

You tried to glare at him, but the way his fingers fucked into you made it impossible to do anything but push your hips against his touch, your cheek turning to him as his lips grazed your ear.

“What do you think about, hmm? Me touching you like this?” he continued, taking your silence as confirmation.

“Harry,” you groaned, gathering a fistful of his hair as his hand stilled, his thumb pressed to your nerves.

“C’mon, kitten. Tell me,” he pressed, a commanding edge to his words that only deepened the ache in your core.

“What you’d feel like, how you’d sound. How you’d fuck m-��

You didn’t get to finish, Harry’s lips were on yours again, swallowing the rest of your words in a kiss so deep and consuming that it felt like he was pulling the life from your body. He pushed a third finger into you, his rings stone-cold against your folds, the silence punctured by breathy gasps and your wetness pushing in and out of you with his every movement.

Your breathing quickened, each stroke of Harry’s fingers building the pressure in your core. He worked at you expertly, his thumb circling your clit in a rhythm that had your skin overheating, your toes starting to curl, your hips bucking into his palm.

His name spilled from your lips like a mantra as your body tensed. Harry kept his eyes locked on you, his brows furrowed as he watched you unravel beneath him.

“Let go, love,” he murmured, his voice thick and coaxing, his fingers curling just right to hit the sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

He didn’t need to tell you twice. The tension that had built inside you snapped, a fresh wave of ecstasy crashing over you with such power that you couldn’t hold back from crying out. Your muscles tightened around his fingers as hot, pulsing waves of pleasure worked their way over your skin, leaving sharp tingles in their wake.

Harry didn’t let up, drawing out your high with slow, deliberate movements, his thumb back to pressing firmly at your clit as his fingers worked you through it.

When you finally went limp beneath him, your chest heaving, he slowly withdrew his hand, the sudden lack of touch drawing out a needy whine from your throat.

You watched through blurry eyes as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, an appreciative groan echoing from his throat.

You let out a shaky breath, your head spinning, your world now entirely tilted on its axis. But Harry didn’t give you much time to recover. He leaned back down, his lips brushing yours, letting you taste your sweetness on his tongue as his hand cupped your cheek.

“Not done with you yet,” he promised, his voice muffled against your lips.

“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your mouth quirking into a smile, heart racing as he fished through his pockets for a condom.

“I’ve been patient with you,” he said, tearing the foil wrapper with his teeth as he knelt between your legs. “Not anymore.”

You swallowed hard as he rolled the condom over his cock, his length hard and heavy in his hand.

“I can handle you,” you retorted, heat flooding through you.

Harry let out a low chuckle, his nose brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his tip just barely pressing against your entrance. “Guess we’re about to find out.”

He pushed into you slowly, his hips rolling forward inch by inch. The stretch had you gasping, your hands flying to his shoulders. Harry groaned, the sound raw and guttural, his forehead falling to yours as he stilled, letting you adjust to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Feel so good, princess.”

Your fingernails dug into his skin as your body arched into his, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness of him. “Move,” you whimpered, desperate for him to do something to help ease the ache building inside you.

Harry obeyed, his hips rolling back before snapping forward again, and again, the force of his thrusts sending a jolt of pleasure through you. He moved deliberately, his pace slow and calculated, his free hand grabbing needily at the flesh of your hip.

“Look at you,” he groaned, full of awe as he watched the way your body responded to him. “Taking me so well. You were made for this.”

Your head rolled back on the pillow, your nails raking down Harry’s back as he drove into you, his pace unrelenting. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and Harry’s gravelly groans as he buried himself in you over and over again.

Every thrust brought you closer to the brink, the coil in your stomach tightening with every snap of his hips. Harry seemed to sense it, his hand sliding underneath his body, finding your clit and circling the nerves with practiced precision.

“You gonna come for me?” he asked, his teeth grazing the skin at your jaw. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart?”

Your entire body trembled as Harry’s words broke through the fog in your mind, his deep, commanding tone sending shockwaves through you. His fingers on your clit matched the rhythm of his thrusts, each movement calculated to push you further into a haze of pleasure.

“Please,” you whimpered, your hands clutching desperately at his curls.

“Wanna feel how good I make you feel,” he pressed, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your back arched off the bed as his hips slammed into yours, the angle perfect, his cock burying itself deep inside you. You howled out his name, your walls clenching and pulsing around him.

Harry groaned deeply, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he fought to maintain control.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s my good girl.”

He didn’t stop, his hips continuing to drive into you, his fingers on your clit prolonging your orgasm until your body shuddered from the overstimulation. You writhed and whimpered, trying to ground yourself, but Harry wasn’t done with you yet.

“You’ve got another one in you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and full of intent.

“I can’t,” you whined, completely sure that you couldn’t handle more, that another orgasm might break you, but the fire in his gaze told you it wasn’t a question.

He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, your body already sensitive, but the way his cock dragged against your sweet spot had you spiraling all over again.

His fingers left your clit only to grab your other thigh, pulling you flush against him, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. “You feel that?” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “Feel how good you’re taking me? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You could barely think, your mind foggy with pleasure as the pressure built inside you again, faster and harder this time. Harry’s lips found yours, swallowing your moans, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release.

“Come with me,” he urged, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice barely more than a breath. “Come with me, kitten. Let me feel you.”

And then you were falling again, your body clenching around him as another orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and all-consuming. Harry followed just a second later, his groan low and guttural as he buried himself deep, his body trembling as he spilled into you.

The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, your bodies tangled together as you both came down from the high. Harry’s weight pressed against you, grounding you, his lips ghosting over your temple in a surprisingly tender gesture.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer now, full of concern as he brushed your damp hair away from your face.

You nodded, still catching your breath, your lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. “More than okay.”

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and comforting as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your cheek. “Still think I’m full of myself?”

You shook your head, “no. Just thinking about me being full of you,” you grinned, biting down on your lip.

He cupped the back of your head, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him, holding you flush to his body. “I think your brother might kill me,” he whispered, a nervous edge to his usually steady voice.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry smut #harry styles au #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles blurb #harry styles masterlist #harryslittlefreakk

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lexirosewrites · 3 days ago

Note

Omega Steve is enamored with Cringe Fail Alpha Eddie and everyone in his life knows it and doesn't understand why.

He's watching Eddie with heart eyes in their one shared class, sighing longingly as Eddie, bites the skin off around his nails and eats it while he ignores the teacher and plans his campaign. He's ignoring his friends' attempts to draw his attention when Eddie gets up on the table to give his semi-regular lunch table rants, almost slipping when he steps in someone's sandwich.

He is hands down the most popular Omega in the school even after he ditches his old friend and becomes Pack Omega to a bunch of puppies and band nerd Robin Buckley. He gets a stupid amount of courting gifts and never says yes to anybody, even a good amount of Betas have tried for his hand. The only Alpha that's never offered is Eddie Munson, and it makes Steve feel crazy.

And Steve knows he could just go over there and ask Eddie if he would be interested in courting, but he wants to be wood! He knows it's silly to way for the Alpha to make an offer but Steve is a romantic at heart and he wants to be wanted.

When Eddie starts dealing in his second senior year and Steve's first, Steve sees this as his chance to finally get close to Eddie organically and flirt a little to show Eddie he's interested. That he only smokes when someone buys for him is irrelevant. He'll buy every day if it means Eddie finally notices him. Robin says he's being a dingus. Steve insists he's a genius.

And so he goes to meet Eddie in the woods. To the average outsider, Eddie's hair is all frizzed out and he's probably worn the same pair of jeans every day this week and is overall a little bit of a rat. Steve Vision, however, only sees an extremely handsome, rugged Alpha seemingly waiting for him in the woods.

"Ah, King Steve. To what do I owe the honor?" It's probably meant as a dig, but it makes Steve preen a little anyway.

"Heard you were dealing now. Couldn't miss my chance to buy from the infamous Eddie Munson." Steve replies as he sits, leaning his head on his palm so he can look up at him from under his lashes. Laying it on a little thick? Maybe. But the way Eddie blushes is worth the cringy move.

With an in, Steve slowly starts inserting himself into Eddie's life more and more. He buys at least once a week, flirting all the while. Eventually, he asks if Eddie would like to meet his kids.

"They love that game, the dungeons one, and I think it would be fun if they all got to play while you ran the plays or whatever."

"Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. I know you know what it's called, but hell yeah lets do it! I'm dying to test my skills on some fresh players."

And of course, the kids love him. Well, Max is less than impressed and while Erica recognized him as an adequate DM, she is firm in her belief that Steve could do better. She's been insistent for the last year that he should be looking for a "real Fabio type" and Eddie Munson doesn't really fit the bill.

The real win of the night, however, is that Eddie brings so much stuff directly from his house that carries his scent. He still wears his scent patch like they all have to in school, which is disappointing, but his notes and books carry a distinct smokey, wet earth smell that nearly makes Steve swoon. He didn't get to see Eddie's reaction to walking into his house, another disappointment, but he just knows they're compatible.

After that, Steve gets himself an invite to Hellfire to watch. He loves seeing Eddie in his element, smiling along when Eddie crows with victory when someone in the party dies because of their own hubris. He stays and hangs out while Eddie cleans up chatting away about their days.

But for as much as Steve puts out all the right signals, and as much as Eddie seems to be flirting back, he hasn't made even a hit of a movement toward courtship. Steve doesn't want to give up, but he's starting to resign himself to the idea that he's just going to have to ask Eddie out himself.

Then one day while Steve is loitering around after Hellfire, an Omega cheerleader walks through the door asking for Eddie. She'd been sent this way by Chrissy Cunningham for some kind of anxiety medication since her mom wouldn't let her get a prescription. Steve's not thrilled by the interruption and is glaring daggers at the poor girl, but Eddie doesn't notice. No, Eddie is too busy breaking Steve's heart.

Eddie is doing all the same things he's done with Steve. All the things that gave Steve hope that Eddie was interested despite his lack of courting attempts. He's leaning in, teasing, hiding behind his hair at the slightest bit of attention. Apparently, those weren't reactions to Steve. That's just how Eddie reacts to any available Omega who looks his way.

Suddenly mortified, Steve jumps off the table he had been so happily perched on not five minutes ago. He grunts out some half-assed excuse and bolts for the door, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the humiliating tears.

From then on, he avoids Eddie as much as he can. No more weekly buying appointments. No more sitting in on Hellfire nights. He can't avoid him completely with the kids in the mix, but he keeps his distance as much as possible, too embarrassed and heartbroken to reach back out. He doesn't drop, not with Robin being such a stable Alpha figure in his life, but everyone can tell he's in a funk.

Eddie, meanwhile, has been as enamored with Steve as every other Alpha in Hawkins for years but never figured he would ever look his way in a million years.

When the Omega started appearing in his life, it felt a little like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Like he would wake up and it would all be some crazy dream induced by years of unfulfilled pining.

But Steve never disappeared and Eddie never woke up. Eddie still wasn't convinced that Steve would ever entertain the idea of courtship with him, so he simply didn't put himself in a position to be rejected, no matter what the Corroded Coffin boys said about Steve "blatantly and obviously begging you to court him, dude."

So on and on it went. The more time went on the more Eddie's instincts screamed that the Omega was his and the more Eddie forced himself not to think about it until all of a sudden Steve was just...gone.

Not gone gone of course. He sees him in the hallways and every now and then when Steve comes to pick the kids up from group hangouts that used to involve Steve on default. Robin also seems pissed at him which is its own thing, but Eddie would be lying if he said her glare didn't make him nervous.

He doesn't know what happened, but what he does know is that his chest hurts almost permanently now. He misses Steve like crazy and is determined to make them talk about whatever it is he did to make Steve avoid him.

Now if only he could get him alone...

------

Ran out of steam at the end there but in my mind Steve keeps avoiding Eddie with the help of Robin, Max, and Erica while Dustin, El, Will, and Lucas help Eddie. Mike would like for them to never get together, please and thank you.

After a couple of months of successfully avoiding Eddie, Steve decides to take up a beta's offer for a date which makes Eddie more jealous than he ever thought was possible. He's absolutely seething, even if he knows it's irrational to be that mad about an Omega he never had any claim over.

He ends up using the kids to break into Steve's house while he's out on the date to set up a competing date. He's all puffed up and ready to posture against Steve's date when he drops Steve off but instead, Steve walks up the driveway alone, looking defeated.

They argue on the front porch about why Steve has been so absent and eventually, Eddie deflates realizing that he's been hurting Steve with his inability to confront his own feelings.

He shows Steve the date he painstakingly set up for him inside, presenting his first of many courting gifts.

idiot4idiot steddie wins again🥰🥰🥰

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks

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prettymfwrites · 1 day ago

Text

Honey pack Prank 🍯

Paige bueckers x female reader

Summary: It had started as a normal day, with Paige dragging you out to help with errands you didn’t want to do. What you didn’t know was that Paige had been plotting her revenge ever since your last prank on her—and today, she had the perfect plan.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓🍯　 🍯༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The car ride had been chill so far, and you left Paige in the car while you popped into the convenience store to grab a few things. What you didn’t know was that while you were inside, Paige was carefully stirring a honey pack into your iced coffee, grinning as she adjusted the camera she had set up on the dash.

“Y’all,” she whispered, glancing at the door to make sure you weren’t coming back yet. “She has no idea. None. And it’s already killing me not to touch her, but I’m about to make this so hard for her.” She giggled, sliding the coffee back into the cup holder as she saw you exit the store.

You opened the car door with an annoyed huff. “They were out of my favorite snacks. This day is already off to a bad start.”

Paige glanced at the camera for a split second before smiling at you. “Aw, poor baby. You got your coffee, though, right?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, taking a sip. You let out a content hum. “Okay, this is good, though. Maybe this’ll save my mood.”

Paige grinned, biting back a laugh as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Good. We’ve got a few more stops to make, mama. Hang in there with me.”

At first, everything was fine. You sipped your coffee, Paige teased you about your music choices, and it was all perfectly normal. But about twenty minutes later, you started feeling... off.

You shifted in your seat, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. “Is it just me, or is it kind of warm in here?”

Paige glanced at you briefly, feigning confusion. “Warm? Baby, it’s literally January. You good?”

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning. “I feel weird. Like... tingly or something. And warm. Definitely warm.”

“Hmm,” Paige said, her tone too casual. “Maybe you’re coming down with something?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “No, I don’t think so. I just... I don’t know. Can I have a kiss?”

Paige tightened her grip on the steering wheel, smirking to herself. “Mama, I’m driving.”

“So?” you said, leaning closer to her. “Just one. Come on, Paige.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Not while I’m driving, baby. You’re gonna have to wait.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. But you owe me when we get home.”

“Oh, I know,” Paige said smoothly, her lips twitching.

Paige led you into the next store, where your restlessness only grew. You fanned yourself with your hand, tugging at your clothes every few seconds. “Seriously, why is it so hot in here?”

“It’s not hot,” Paige said, grabbing a shopping basket and shooting a glance at the camera she had discreetly placed in the cart. “You feeling okay, pretty?”

“No! I feel like I’m burning up, and I don’t even know why. And you’re just... standing there being you,” you snapped, gesturing at her.

“Being me?” Paige repeated, biting back a laugh. “What does that mean, baby?”

“You know what it means! You’re just walking around here being all fine, and it’s not helping!”

Paige stopped in her tracks, smirking. “So you think I’m fine?”

“Oh, don’t even start,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands. “Can we just get out of here already?”

“We still have a couple more things to grab,” Paige said, her voice teasing. “Patience, baby.”

You groaned, trailing after her like a lovesick puppy. Every time she stopped to grab something, you leaned against her, clutching her arm or resting your head on her shoulder.

“Can you hold my hand?” you asked, pouting up at her.

Paige laced her fingers through yours with a soft smile. “Better?”

“No,” you said, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into her arm. “I need more than this, Paige. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel so... ugh!”

Paige leaned down, her voice low and teasing. “Tell me what you need, mama.”

You pulled back, glaring at her. “You know what I need!”

Paige bit her lip as you walked away from her noticeably frustrated, glancing at the camera with an amused glint in her eyes. “Y’all, she’s making this so hard to do.”

By the time you made it back to the car, you were practically vibrating with frustration. “I don’t even care about the errands anymore. Can we please go home?”

Paige chuckled, patting your knee. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you home, pretty.”

When you finally got inside, you wasted no time stripping off your jacket and tugging at your shirt. “I’m burning up, Paige. I don’t know what’s happening, but I—”

You reached for the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it off, when Paige darted forward, grabbing your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Paige said quickly, her voice a mix of laughter and panic. She moved to turn off the camera she’d set on the counter.

“What?” you asked, confused and flustered.

Paige grinned, holding up the empty honey pack. “It was a prank, mama. Payback for last time.”

Your jaw dropped. “Paige! Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” Paige said, laughing. “You messed with me first, baby. This is just karma.”

“You are so lucky I love you,” you muttered, glaring at her.

Paige leaned in, brushing her lips against yours. “I know, mama. And for the record? You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even when you’re mad.”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re still in trouble.”

Paige smirked, pulling you closer. “Worth it.”

🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯

I take requests babes! 💕

#paige x reader #paige buckets #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #uconn x reader #paige bueckers uconn #uconn wbb

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stylesispunk · 3 days ago

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"The soldier in the armour" | part iii

marcus acacius x f!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The aftermath of Geta's action took a tool on you and Acacius. Some decisions are made and you are willing to end caracalla's and Geta reign.

w.c: 9k

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, miscarriage, mentions of poisoning, age gap, power imbalance.

a/n: hello, thank you so much for your patience and your feedback on this one. Firstly if you feel this one is rushed is because I lost half of the chapter the other day and I rewrote it. Secondly, this chapter is more acacius x reader centered and PLEASE pay attention to some signals I left for the future chapters since I already planned out the ending 👀 reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The faint light of dawn filtered into the room as your senses returned back to your now, foggy mind. You blinked, disoriented by the unfamiliar weight on your limbs. The healer was seated at the edge of the bed, with her hands massaging your legs, her touch gentle as always. You shifted slightly, your head pounding, and tried to piece together what had happened.

"Acacius..." you murmured, your voice hoarse as if speaking hurt.

The healer glanced up at you, she smiled at you with pity dressed as sympathy. "He's been watching over you all these hours, my lady," she said softly. "But he stepped out for a moment to meet someone."

You furrowed your brow, trying to sit up, but the effort was too much. That’s when you noticed the fresh gown you were wearing, the faint scent of lavender and herbs clinging to you. Your mind raced as you realized you’d been cleaned and changed while unconscious.

"What happened to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The healer hesitated, her hands stilling for a moment before she resumed her work. "My lady...you started bleeding heavily in the night. It was..." She trailed off, clearly struggling with the words.

Before you could press further, the door creaked open, and Acacius entered. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion as if hadn't been able to sleep in days. At the sight of you awake, made his eyes shone for a flicker second. Relief crossed his features, but it was short-lived, the sadness shadowed his glance.

"Acacius..." you called weakly.

He walked to your side, sinking to one knee. His hands enveloped yours, warm and firm, protecting you as always, but this time there was a heaviness in his gaze that unsettled you whole.

"You’re awake. " He said softly, his voice rough with fatigue.

"What happened?" you pressed, searching his face for an answer.

"You should rest more," he said eventually, his tone low.

“What happened?” you repeated, your tone sent shiver down Acacius’ spine.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away briefly, as if bracing himself, as if looking for a proper word to speak the truth. "You...lost a child," he said finally, his words cutting you half, "Our child."

The world tilted for a moment, the weight of his words crashing into you. A child? Yours? You hadn’t even known.

"I..” you chuckled, nervously, “I…I don’t understand," you stammered, tears welling in your eyes.

"You didn’t know," he said gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Neither did I. But the the healers confirmed it. Whatever Geta gave you..." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. "It caused this.”

Your breath hitched, and your free hand instinctively moved to your abdomen, grief and confusion swirling within you.

Acacius leaned closer, his forehead pressing against your hand. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice raw. "I should have protected you. I should have known-"

"Stop," you interrupted, your own tears falling freely now. "This isn’t your fault, Acacius."

He shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening. "I failed you," he insisted, his guilt palpable.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek. "You didn’t fail me.” You didn’t know how to assure him of it. You didn’t know how to feel, grief for the child you had never known, anger at Emperor Geta or a hollow emptiness creeping it, and threatening to consume you. Your hand rested on your abdomen, an ache settling deep within your chest as you thought about what could have been.

Acacius lifted his head, his expression hardening "I’ll make sure he never touches you again," he vowed, his tone resolute. “This crossed a line with no return.”

You could only nod, unable to find the words to express the storm of emotions crashing down on you.

He gently cupped your face, his eyes locking onto yours. "You’ll get through this," he promised, his voice softer now. "You’re not alone in this, and I’ll stand by you, no matter what."

The tears continued to fall, but you leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his words. For a moment, the world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by love and shared pain he would carry too.

"I’m here," Acacius murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I won’t let anything happen to you again."

As the night wore on, Acacius had stayed beside you, his presence brought calm you didn’t know it if was going to able to exist anymore. Eventually, he stood and walked to the small table in the corner of the room, where a tray of herbs and remedies had been left by the healer earlier. He carefully mixed something into a bowl of warm broth.

Returning to you, he knelt down, his expression soft yet firm as he held the bowl out. "You need to eat," he said gently. "This will help with the symptoms. The doctor suggested it would ease the lingering effects of...whatever Geta gave you."

You hesitated, your stomach twisting at the thought of food. "I don’t want to," you murmured, your voice faint.

"Please," he insisted, his hand brushing lightly against yours. "Just a little. For me."

The quiet plea in his voice softened your resistance. Slowly, you nodded, allowing him to scoop a spoonful of the broth and bring it to your lips. The warmth of it was soothing, and though your body resisted at first, you managed to swallow.

"Good," he murmured, his tone encouraging as he prepared another spoonful.

He fed you slowly, his patience unwavering. With each sip, the nausea that had been gnawing at you began to ease, the pounding in your head lessening slightly. Acacius didn’t rush you, his eyes never leaving yours as he made sure you took in enough to strengthen you.

"Better?" he asked softly, setting the bowl aside once you had eaten enough.

You nodded, though your body still felt weak. "A little," you admitted.

His hand brushed against your cheek, his touch tender. "You’ll feel stronger soon," he promised.

"I'll let you rest," Acacius said softly, his thumb gently tracing your cheek one last time.

A pang of loneliness surged within you, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Aren't you staying with me?"

His eyes softened, a hint of regret flickering across his face. "I just have to arrange some things," he explained, his voice calm but firm. "But I promise, I’ll come back as soon as I’m ready."

You searched his gaze, finding sincerity there. Though the thought of him leaving, even for a short time, made your heart ache, you knew he wouldn’t go far.

"Promise me," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I promise," he assured you. "I’ll be back before you know it."

With that, he stood, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before turning to leave. As the door closed behind him, the room felt quieter leaving you alone with the grief of a loss you didn’t know how to navigate.

As soon as Acacius stepped out of your quarter, he faced Lucilla who was there waiting to see you. You could see the worry for you written all over her face, but she wasn’t strong enough to see you broken again. She felt her heart shattered for you, her precious daughter.

She looked up at Acacius, surprised by his sudden appearance outside the room.

"Did you know?" he demanded, his voice sharp and cutting. "About her carrying a child?"

Lucilla blinked, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "No," she replied steadily. "But I had my suspicions."

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "And you didn’t think to tell me? To warn me?"

"I wasn’t sure," she said defensively. "And what would I have said, Acacius? I didn’t have any proof."

His frustration boiled over. "You should have told me!" he shouted but slow enough to prevent you from hearing from inside the room. "Ever since she and I got married, Geta’s obsession with her has only grown worse. Every decision I’ve made, every step I’ve taken, has led to nothing but her tears."

Lucilla’s expression hardened. "Don’t you dare put this all on me," she snapped. "I’ve tried to protect her in the only ways I knew how."

Acacius shook his head, his eyes filled with anguish. "I feel like marrying her was a mistake," he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "Not because I don’t love her, but because all its brought her is pain."

Lucilla's eyes narrowed; her voice sharp with reproach. "Do you think she would be better without you? Do you truly believe that?"

Acacius's shoulders sagged, the heavy words pressing down on him. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice breaking. "All I know is that since we’ve been together, she’s suffered more than she ever should have. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the cause of her pain."

Lucilla stepped closer, her gaze softening slightly. "She loves you, Acacius. Can’t you see that? Despite everything, she chose you. She fights for you, just as you fight for her."

He looked away, guilt and self-doubt etched into his features. "I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect her from all this," he whispered.

"Then you need to be," Lucilla replied firmly. "Because she needs you now more than ever. And walking away would only break her further."

Acacius's jaw clenched; the internal battle evident in his expression. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady. “I could send her away-“

“No!” Lucilla immediately refused to whatever his plan was. “I won’t allow you to take my daughter away from me.” She spoke, knowing too well, “You wouldn’t forgive yourself for that. The pain of not knowing where she would be will kill you.”

Acacius stared at Lucilla, her words cutting through his thoughts like a blade. He knew she was right. The idea of sending you away, of putting distance between you to keep you safe, felt like the only solution. Yet, the thought of losing you, even for your protection, was unbearable.

"I just want her to be safe," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how else to ensure that."

Lucilla's gaze softened, and she stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We’ll find another way," she assured him. "Together, we can protect her. But she needs you here, by her side, not miles away, torn apart by fear and regret."

Acacius nodded slowly, the weight of his decision settling in. "You’re right," he admitted, his voice steadier now. "I can’t lose her. Not like this."

Lucilla gave a small, encouraging smile. "Then fight for her, Acacius. Stand by her."

With a final glance at Lucilla, Acacius turned back toward the room where you lay, his resolve hardening. He knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but for you he would fight a thousand of battles.

Acacius paused in the doorway, his heart aching at the sight of you standing weakly by the window, silhouetted against the faint light of the stars. Your fragile form looked even more delicate, and he could see the weight of grief and exhaustion pulling you down. His instinct was to urge you back to bed, to ensure you rested, but your voice broke the silence before he could speak.

"Do you think souls know you loved them," you asked softly, your gaze still fixed on the night sky, "even if you didn’t meet them?"

The question hung in the air, fragile and filled with sorrow. Acacius approached you slowly, his footsteps quiet on the floor. He stood beside you, his presence sent warm to the coldness you felt inside you.

"I believe they do," he said gently, his voice filled with conviction. "Love transcends the physical, the seen. It’s a bond that doesn’t need time or proximity to exist.”

Your lips trembled, and you looked down, tears streaming silently down your cheeks. "I didn’t even know..." you whispered, feeling the grief breaking your soul.

Acacius reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm before wrapping around you, pulling you into his embrace. "Your love is real, and it’s known," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Our child felt it, and they’ll always carry that love with them."

As he held you close, his eyes drifted to your shoulder, where the faint imprint of a bite mark clung to your skin as cruel reminder of Geta’s actions. The wound stirred a deep, simmering anger within him, a fury that had been building with every injustice you had endured. His grip on you tightened slightly, protective, as the hatred he felt for the emperor grew more potent than never.

His patience with Geta and Caracalla had reached his limit, but it was the first of them his main target.

His jaw clenched, and his breathing deepened, struggling to keep his emotions inside. The thought of Geta’s audacity, his relentless obsession and the harm he had caused, ignited a burning need for retribution. Acacius pressed a tender kiss to your temple, a silent vow forming in his mind.

You felt the tension in his embrace, the barely contained rage that coursed through him. Looking up, you saw the storm in his eyes. You lifted yourself just a bit to reached his lips, but he knew what you were doing. The sadness had clouded your mind completely, and you thought that after losing a child you could have another right away, to feel the hope again.

As your lips moved in syn together with fervor. He allowed himself to be led by you towards the bed, you were on charge but as soon as you sat on his lap, he pulled away from you, placing his hands on your shoulders and all he saw was two crystal eyes shining like the moon, watering.

“No," he whispered, his voice soft but determined by the consciousness of his actions. His gaze held yours, filled with love. "This isn’t what you need right now."

Tears welled in your eyes once more, spilling over as the weight of your grief pressed down on you. "I just... I need to feel something else." you choked out, your voice trembling.

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks. "I know," he murmured, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I was going to be a mother…” your sob wracked through you.

Acacius arms wrapped around you firmly, yet tenderly, holding you as if you might break. His steady heartbeat beneath you was a grounding presence, a reminder that you were not alone in this overwhelming grief.

He held you close, his chin resting atop your head as his arms enveloped you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. "You will be," he whispered softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "Someday, you will be. And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way."

Your sobs shook your body as the reality of your loss washed over you. "I didn’t even know," you cried, clutching onto him as if letting go would mean losing yourself entirely. Tears spilled down your cheeks, and you couldn’t stop them. "How could I not have known?" you cried, the anguish in your voice cutting through the eerie quiet night. "I lost a child, Acacius... our child. And I didn’t even get the chance to-“

His fingertips stroked your back, his hands traced soothing patterns all along, up and down. "Let it out," he whispered, his voice soft and steady. "You don’t have to hold it all in."

You clung to him, the weight of all your emotions pouring out in waves soaking his tunic. The loss and the fear met and you were terrified of losing even losing him “Everything feels so broken." You murmured.

He tightened his embrace, his lips pressing gently against your temple. "I’ll piece every single piece of you.”

You took a shuddering breath; the warmth of his words enveloped you. "I don’t know if I’m enough," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You are. " He said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were filled with love.

He tilted your chin up slightly, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your heart burst. "I see the light in you, even when you can’t see it yourself," he said softly. "And I’ll be here, always, to remind you of that light."

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks, but your heart felt a little bit lighter. His thumb gently wiped away a tear, his touch tender and full of love.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," he continued, his voice reassuring. "Lean on me, let me be your strength when you need it.”

His forehead rested against yours, the closeness hurt you. "You are everything to me," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "And I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you peace."

Acacius’s eyes softened, and a faint smile played on his lips as he cupped your face gently. "You were made for me," he whispered, his voice filled with reverence and love. "In every lifetime, in every universe, I would find you. You are my destiny."

The sincerity in his words sent a warmth through you, easing the ache in your heart. He brushed his thumb along your cheek, his touch light as a petal, as if afraid you might disappear in a second. "No matter what happens, you are my everything."

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to both of your wet cheeks. "We were meant to find each other," he continued, his voice a soothing balm. "And nothing, not even the gods themselves, can take that away from us."

His arms wrapped around you tighter, pulling you closer as if to shield you from the world. "I Will love you forever.”

The next day, Acacius stood by your side at the edge of the bed, his gaze softened as he watched you resting. The morning light filtered gently through the window, casting a warm glow over your face.

He had trusted your closest healer to stay and watch you over while he wasn’t here. She gave him a reassuring nod.

“She’s in good hands,” the healer said softly. “I’ll stay with her and ensure she has everything she needs, general.”

Acacius nodded, grateful for her words. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “Rest well, my love. I’ll be back soon.”

With a final glance, he turned and left, joining Lucilla outside who was waiting for him after having checking on you. Together, they made their way to the grand Colosseum, while the distant roar of the crowd growing louder as they arrived. The games brough chaos, the spectacle of gladiators battling for glory captivating the masses as they saw how people fought for their lives.

As they entered the imperial box, both greeted the emperors.

“General Acacius, Lucilla” Caracalla said, followed with a curt nod, his eyes sharp and assessing.

Emperor Geta, however, was quick to notice your absence besides your husband and your mother. His gaze narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features.

“General Acacius,” Geta called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the crowd. “Where is that beautiful wife of yours?”

Acacius met Geta’s gaze steadily, his expression unreadable trying it hard not to show how much he loathed him. “She’s unwell, Emperor,” he replied evenly. “The healer advised her to rest.”

Geta’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Unwell?” he echoed, skepticism lacing his tone. “I hope it’s nothing serious. She should not miss such a spectacle. Not when she knows the privileges she is granted.”

Lucilla interjected smoothly; her tone polite yet firm. “Her health is of major importance. She needs rest to recover.”

Geta’s gaze lingered on Lucilla, then with a sinister edge creeping into his smile he looked at Acacius. “I see. Still, it’s a pity she isn’t here. Perhaps her healing the wounds of that gladiator the other day…” he paused, looking how the general’s eyes widened at the information, “Oh you didn’t know.” He chuckled, “Your wife sneaked away the other day, healing the wounds of that new gladiator, you’ll see him again now.”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure. The revelation hit him like a blow, his mind racing with questions and fury. His eyes flickered briefly toward Lucilla, who maintained her calm demeanor, though he could sense her own tension beneath the surface.

Geta’s smirk widened, reveling in the unease he had stirred. “Ah, here he comes now,” he said, gesturing toward the arena as Hanno, well Lucius stepped into the ring. “Quite the fighter, isn’t he? Your wife seemed particularly taken by him.”

Acacius’s gaze snapped to the arena, his heart pounding as he watched the gladiator enter. His mind swirled with conflicting emotions. The was anger, confusion, and a protective instinct that burned brighter than ever.

Lucilla placed a gentle hand on Acacius’s arm, her grip firm yet reassuring. “Remember where we are,” she murmured softly, her eyes meeting his with a silent warning. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Acacius swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a steadying breath. He nodded slightly, acknowledging her words, though his fury simmered just beneath the surface. His focus returned to Geta, who was still watching him with a smug expression.

“I trust my wife’s intentions were noble,” Acacius said evenly, his voice betraying none of the storm raging within him. “She has a compassionate heart.”

Geta chuckled darkly. “Indeed, a heart too soft for a soldier’s wife, perhaps. But no matter. Let us enjoy the games. After all, they are in your honor.”

Acacius said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he returned his gaze to the arena. The gladiator’s movements remined him of Maximus and those brought taunted memories and traits that only added fuel to the fire of Acacius’s anger. As the crowd roared, Acacius’s thoughts remained fixed on one thing: you and the truth behind Geta’s words.

By the time Acacius and Lucilla arrived back at the village, a storm was raging inside Acacius. Geta’s words had found a way to go inside his head, taking root, growing into something that gnawed at him. He couldn’t shake the image of you, his wife, tending to that gladiator and the thought of your actions, no matter how noble, twisted his heart. The confusion and pain felt unbearable. He tried to suppress it, but anger surged through him.

When they finally reached your quarters, Lucilla moved swiftly, almost running to check on you. She could feel the weight of her concern lifting when she saw you sitting in your bed, smiling and laughing at something the healer had just told you. For a moment, she stood at the door, watching you with quiet relief, grateful to see you looking so much better than the last time she had seen you.

But Acacius couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued him. He had to know. He needed answers, and he needed them now. The guilt over his emotions and the anger toward Geta swirled together, making him question everything about you and his relationship with you.

Lucilla noticed the change in Acacius immediately. Though he had managed to hold his composure earlier, now his expression darkened, the storm inside him clearly visible. She had seen him angry before, but this felt different fueled by personal matters. She approached you cautiously, giving Acacius a moment to process what he was feeling.

You looked up, noticing at your mother’s concerned expression. "What happened?" you asked, sensing the shift in the air. "Is everything alright?"

“Nothing to worry about, my darling” she made her best effort to smile sincerely at you, “How are you feeling?” she asked as he comb your hair just in the same way she did as when you were a child.

“A bit better, mother” you replied smiling at her. You lifted your eyes, looking briefly at her, then moving you glance to Acacius. “Acacius,” you called softly, but his attention was fixed elsewhere.

Lucilla glanced at you and then at him, her gaze sharp with understanding. “Perhaps, my dear, it would be better if you let him have some time to himself.”

“No,” you replied firmly, your voice stronger than you felt. "I know something happened."

“Emperor Geta spoke to me,” he began, “He told me about the gladiator. The one you were seen tending to.”

Your heart sank, and you struggled to find your voice. “Acacius, I—”

He cut you off, his jaw tightening. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Acacius turned toward you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a storm of conflicting emotions. "You were healing him," he said, his voice quiet but laden with the weight of unspoken accusations. "Why?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you pleaded, sitting up. “I had to help him.”

“Why?” Acacius demanded, stepping closer. “Why risk everything for a gladiator?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him the truth without revealing everything? The weight of your secret threatened to crush you. Your bother’s life was on edge.

“Answer me!” His voice rose, his frustration boiling over. “Why would you do something so reckless?”

“He was in pain. I couldn’t let him suffer,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

Acacius’s eyes narrowed, his anger giving way to a deeper hurt. “You trust him more than me? You trust a stranger over your own husband?”

“It’s not about that.” you said desperately.

Acacius’s fists clenched at his sides; his knuckles white. “You’ve been hiding things from me, lying to me. How can I protect you when you won’t even be honest with me?”

“That’s enough,” Lucilla stood out firmly, placing herself between the two of you. “This isn’t helping anyone.”

“Stay out of this, Lucilla,” Acacius snapped, but she didn’t back down.

“No, I won’t,” she said, her voice unwavering. Lucilla placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her voice firm yet comforting. "My daughter needs rest, Acacius. This isn't the time for this."

Acacius stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes still burning with anger. He hesitated, his jaw clenching as he seemed to wrestle with his emotions. Then, he spoke, his voice cold and cutting.

"Rest?" he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "How can she rest when she seems to have enough energy to heal every stray gladiator in Rome?"

The words hit you like a slap; it seems like there was cruelty in his tone slicing through you. You flinched, the sting of his accusation sharper than any physical pain you were inflicting. Your eyes filled with tears, but you refused to let them fall.

Lucilla's eyes flashed with anger. "Acacius, that's enough," she said sharply, standing to face him. “Leave.”

Acacius held her gaze for a moment, then exhaled sharply, turning away. "Fine. Your problem is that you're too naive". he muttered, his voice softer but no less bitter and with that, he strode out of the room, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Lucilla turned back to you, her expression softening as she took your hand in hers.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her eyes full of sympathy. "He didn't mean it. He's just hurt and confused."

You nodded faintly, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I know," you whispered back, though the pain in your chest didn’t lessen.

"Mother I swear is not what it seems like." you cried out as she held your hands trying to ground you.

She knew you were saying the truth, beyond your words; she knew you and she was aware of the pain you had endured during the last few hours. She had carried you inside her womb, she knew better.

"I know…I know,dear...but Acacius allowed those words to his head, he-“

"Didn't you recognize your own son?" You asked, looking directly at her. Those eyes that seemed to hold so much mercy, now seemed hurt and shocked.

"What?" She asked almost fearing the answer.

"Lucius?" You said his name, sounding almost foreign in your lips "I know he reminded you of someone, I knew you tried to piece that together the other day."

"I knew it." She gasped, standing up. She lifted her hand to her face as she paced around the quarters. "He looks exactly like..." but he paused, and you were met with silence.

"Looks like what?" you asked.

"Your father." She replied, without looking at you.

The words hung heavy in the air, like a suffocating weight pressing down on your chest. Your mind whirled, trying to process the shock of what Lucilla had just revealed. "My father?" you repeated, confused.

Lucilla stopped pacing, her back turned to you as she continued to stand with her hand against her forehead, her breath shallow. "Maximus.” She gasped, as she freed her truth, “Maximus was your father.”

The shock of Lucilla’s words crashed over you like a wave, pulling you under with its sheer force. Maximus. Your father. The name that had always been wrapped in mystery, the name that had haunted your thoughts for years, now had a new meaning. The weight of it settled in your chest, leaving you breathless.

"My father?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, as if saying the words out loud might shatter the fragile reality you had built for yourself. "Maximus was my father?"

Lucilla turned slowly to face you, her expression torn between regret and sorrow. "Yes," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "Maximus was your father.”

You stared at her, struggling to reconcile this new truth with everything you had known. Maximus, the legendary general, the man whose name had been spoken in reverence and fear. The same man who had fallen in the arena, and he had killed your uncle, leaving behind a legacy of honor and bloodshed. The man you had always wondered about, but never truly known. And now, you were learning that he was more than just a figure in your past, he was the father you never had.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" you asked, the question escaping before you could stop it. "Why keep this from me, mother?

Lucilla’s eyes filled with tears; her face contorted with guilt. "I didn’t know how to tell you, “She admitted, her voice breaking. "When Maximus died, so much was left unsaid. So much pain was buried. You and Lucius...you were the result of a love that had to be hidden, kept in the shadows-Oh my god, my boy is alive” she cried, coming close to you “How-What did you say to him?”

“We spoke, mother I-I’m finding a way to free him” you assure her, “But please don’t say this to Acacius, I will.”

She nodded, not entirely sure but she still did it.

The villa was cloaked in silence as the night deepened, shadows stretching long and dark across the marble floors. You moved carefully, each step deliberate, your breath shallow as you avoided the guards and servants who patrolled the halls.

The words Acacius had told earlier were still ringing in your mind and making a way to shatter the pieces of your already broken heart that you feel the urging need to escape and see Lucius.

Your heart pounded in your chest; fear creeped upon you. You couldn’t shake the need to see Lucius, to ensure he was safe, to discuss a plan to free him. The loss you had just endured weighed heavily on you, but it also fueled your resolve. You couldn’t bear to lose another person you cared about.

The cool night air greeted you as you slipped out of the villa, the stars above casting a faint light over the path ahead. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, the chill seeping into your bones as you made your way toward the gladiator barracks.

The path seemed familiar now, each twist and turn etched into your memory. You avoided the main roads, sticking to the shadows, your steps quick and silent. The barracks loomed ahead, its structure dark and foreboding under the moonlight.

You found the entrance, a small side door that you had used before. With a deep breath, you slipped inside, the scent of sweat and earth filling your senses. The faint murmur of voices echoed through the halls, but you pressed on, moving toward the cell where you knew Lucius was held.

As you approached, your heart tightened at the sight of him. He sat in the corner of the small cell, his head resting against the wall, eyes closed. His face was drawn, the lines of exhaustion and pain evident even in the dim light.

“Lucius,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, there was a flicker of surprise before it was replaced by something softer. He rose slowly, moving toward the bars. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to see you,” you said, your fingers gripping the cold metal bars. “I couldn’t stay away. We need to talk.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze intense. “What’s happened?” he asked, sensing the turmoil within you.

You hesitated, the weight of your recent loss pressing heavily on your chest. “I’ve lost something,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I can’t lose you too. We need to find a way to get you out of here.”

Lucius’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice filled with empathy. “But you can’t put yourself in danger for me.”

“I lost a child” you confessed.

Lucius’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from concern to deep empathy. He stepped closer to the bars, his hand resting over yours, his touch warm and steady.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his voice laced with sorrow. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now.”

Your grip on the cold metal tightened as tears welled in your eyes. “I didn’t even know,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. “I didn’t have the chance to-” You broke off, unable to finish the thought, the grief too overwhelming.

Lucius squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders,” he said softly. “You’re stronger than you realize, but you don’t have to bear this alone.”

A sob escaped your lips, and you leaned against the bars, letting the weight of your emotions flow freely. Lucius stayed silent, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your grief.

Lucius’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “You’ve been through so much,” he said, his voice filled with empathy. “You can’t put yourself in danger for me anymore.”

“I’m not asking for your permission,” you said firmly, your resolve strengthening. “I’ll find a way, Lucius. I promise. I will free you.”

He reached through the bars, his hand brushing against yours. “You’ve always been stubborn,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You nodded, your heart swelling with happiness at the sight of your brother.

The ride back to the villa was met by silence, the weight of your encounter with Lucius heavy in your chest. The night air was cool, but it did little to soothe the turmoil within you. As you entered the villa, the quietness of the halls seemed oppressive, each step echoing in the vast space.

You barely made it to your chambers when the door burst open behind you. Acacius stood there, his expression was a mix of worry and anger.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice sharp, the worry in his eyes betraying his stern tone. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

You turned to face him, your own emotions boiling over. “I needed space,” you replied, your voice trembling with restrained anger. “I couldn’t breathe in here.”

“Space? You left in the middle of the night, without a word…” Acacius stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “After everything that’s happened, you just disappeared. In your condition.”

“I’m not a prisoner, Acacius.” you shot back, calm. “I needed to clear my head, to deal with everything. I don’t need you controlling me over.”

His eyes darkened, frustration and hurt flickered across his face. “I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to protect you. You’ve been through so much, and I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you.”

You took a step back, shaking your head. “I don’t need protection, Acacius. What I need is space to grieve, to process everything. And you-” your voice caught, the words barely above a whisper. “You can’t fix this.”

“I know I can’t fix this,” he said, his voice softening, the anger fading into sorrow. “But I can be here for you. I can protect you and I’m sorry for how I treated you before”

You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. “Stop looking at me with pity”

Acacius flinched at your words, his shoulders slumping slightly as if your harshness had struck a nerve. For a moment, he stood there, quiet, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“I didn’t mean to pity you,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “I just… I don’t know how to help you through all of this. I also lost that child and I don’t where to put that pain.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with the weight of both loss and unspoken tension. You hadn’t expected him to say that, hadn’t expected him to acknowledge the pain of your shared grief. It was a rawness in his voice you hadn’t heard before, a vulnerability that both softened and shattered the walls you had built around yourself.

For a long moment, you stood there, the truth of what he had said settling heavily in your chest. You’d been so focused on your own pain, so wrapped in your sorrow, that you hadn’t stopped to think about how deeply the loss had affected him too. But now, hearing it in his voice, you understood—he wasn’t just someone who had watched you suffer. He had lost something precious, too.

"You…" You swallowed hard, the words threatening to choke you. "You lost him, too.”

Acacius nodded, his expression tightening with the grief he had kept hidden for so long. “When the healer told me about the baby I-I couldn’t help but thinking about us having a family and then it was all ripped away and Geta said those words…I lost it.”

You could feel the sorrow in his voice, the weight of everything he had been carrying in silence, and your heart ached for him, just as it ached for yourself. You hadn’t realized how deeply the loss had cut him, how the dream of a future you both had envisioned had been shattered in an instant.

“I didn’t think about it” you said.

Acacius’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the grief in his eyes mingling with something more vulnerable, something raw. “I didn’t want you to know,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to say it, or if it even mattered. But the pain... it wasn’t just yours to carry. After all, I’m the one who must protect you.”

You stepped closer, feeling the need to be near him, to bridge the space that had grown between you. “It matters, Acacius. It always mattered.”

His hand moved to gently touch your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a way that felt both tender and tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into his touch, allowing him to comfort you in the way you had needed for so long.

“I wish I hadn’t said those things to you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, “I was angry and hurt, but that wasn’t the way to show you how much I cared.”

“I wish we hadn’t let everything build up between us,” you replied, your voice steady now, though your heart still thudded painfully in your chest. “But I understand why we did. I understand why we kept everything hidden.”

There was a silence between you then, a shared understanding that neither of you had known how to express until now. The space that had once felt like a gulf now felt a little smaller, a little less impossible to cross.

“Can we…” You paused, trying to find the right words. “Can we try to heal this together? No more hiding. No more walls between us.”

Acacius’s eyes met yours, the depth of his grief still there, but something else, something warm and hopeful, flickered in them.

Acacius’s hand remained on your cheek, his thumb moving gently as though savoring the contact, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his touch. The space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second, and though the rawness of your shared grief still lingered, there was an undeniable pull between you both—one that had always been there, hidden beneath the tension, the sorrow, and the unspoken words.

He stepped closer, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. It was as if the world outside had faded into silence, leaving only the two of you standing there in the quiet of the room, in the quiet of this moment.

Without a word, Acacius leaned in, his gaze never leaving yours as if asking permission without speaking. His eyes held a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen before, something raw, something real—and it made your heart beat faster. You nodded almost imperceptibly, unable to put into words what you needed, what you wanted.

And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t passionate, not at first, but of something deeper, something that carried the weight of all that had come before, of loss, of pain, and of the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both heal. His lips were gentle on yours, as though he was testing the waters, waiting for any sign that you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you responded, your lips parting slightly as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

Acacius’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his hold steady and sure, and you melted into his embrace. His kiss deepened, and there was a tenderness in it that spoke volumes of the regret, the longing, and the understanding that had finally found its way to the surface.

For a long moment, the world around you ceased to exist. There was only the feeling of his kiss, the warmth of his hands, and the quiet comfort of knowing that, despite everything, you were no longer alone in this.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless, your forehead resting against his, your hearts beating in sync. He didn’t pull away, and neither did you. Instead, you stayed there, letting the silence between you speak for all the things that words could never fully express.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion.

“And I’m here.” You replied.

The next morning, you awoke with a lingering warmth in your chest, the memory of last night’s kiss with Acacius was still fresh on your lips. It was strange, despite the pain and the heartache, there was something comforting in the way Acacius had held you, as if the weight of everything pressing down on you could be borne, if only together.

But just as the morning light began to fill the room, casting soft shadows on the walls, the harsh knock on your door interrupted the peace. You sighed softly.

One of the servants entered your quarters, announcing the presence of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla.

Before you could even respond, and both Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta stepped into the room. Their presence was commanding, each one wearing an expression that veiled their intentions. Caracalla's eyes scanned the room first, his gaze lingering briefly on you.

"Good morning, princess” Caracalla greeted; his tone formal but with an edge of curiosity. "I trust you slept well.”

Geta, ever the more mischievous presence, did not mask his interest so well. His gaze immediately flicked between you and his brother, noting the tension that hung thick in the air. "Ah, my lady” he remarked, his smile laced with hidden meaning. "I hope we aren't interrupting something more... private?"

You could feel Geta’s eyes on you, the weight of his gaze making you uneasy. His curiosity was sharp, and you could almost feel him waiting for any sign of weakness, any crack to exploit. You forced yourself to stand taller, lifting your chin in defiance of his probing stare.

Caracalla’s eyes softened for a moment as he observed the tension, and then, with a slow nod, he motioned toward the chairs by the table. "We did not come here to pry," he said, his voice quieter now, though still full of authority. "But we were concerned. Your absence was noted at yesterday’s games. I trust everything is well?"

Geta, however, did not seem as concerned. He leaned against the doorframe casually, his smirk never wavering. "Indeed," he chimed in. "Such a pity to miss the games, especially with the gladiator’s performance. But I’m sure you’re feeling better now.”

The air between the three of you grew heavy, filled with unsaid things, fears, suspicions, and lingering emotions. Caracalla watched you closely, his sharp gaze measuring your movements though his voice remained level.

"We wanted to ensure all is well. There are matters of the empire that demand our attention, but family is still... important," Caracalla added, though his eyes seemed to linger on you, a glimmer of something unreadable flashing behind them.

Geta stepped closer, a twisted smile curling his lips. "No prisoner has ever had such treatment," he said, gesturing around the luxurious room as if the walls and fine furnishings were a gift from him. "I have given you everything."

Your anger surged, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer. "Everything?" you spat, your voice shaking with fury. "You mean the punishment? The abuse of your power? Poisoning me? Making me lose a child?"

Geta froze, his eyes widening in shock at your words. He hadn’t expected you to confront him so directly, hadn’t anticipated the raw pain and anger that laced your voice. For a moment, he looked almost human, almost remorseful, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a cold, calculating expression.

"I... didn’t know," he muttered, though his tone lacked genuine remorse. "That wasn’t my intention."

You took a step closer, your eyes blazing with defiance. "Your intentions don’t matter," you said, your voice low but cutting. "You have taken everything you could from me.”

Geta’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. Caracalla’s gaze flicked between you and his brother, a faint smirk playing on his lips as if he found the whole exchange amusing. The tension in the room was suffocating, each moment stretching into eternity.

Finally, Geta turned away, his expression dark and unreadable. "We’ll speak again soon," he said, coming close to you, reaching your ear for you to hear, his voice devoid of the usual warmth he tried to feign. "But remember, no matter how you feel, you are still mine."

After Geta left your quarters, Caracalla lingered for a moment longer, his gaze softened unexpectedly. His voice, usually sharp and cold, dropped to something almost gentle. "You would have made a wonderful mother," he said quietly, his words hanging in the air.

You stiffened at his remark, the unexpected sentiment cutting through the tension like a blade. Before you could respond, he turned and followed Geta out of the room, leaving you in stunned silence.

Acacius stepped inside the room and closed behind the two emperors. His eyes were filled with concern, his jaw tight as he crossed the room to you.

He reached for you, his hands settling on your shoulders. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, searching your face for any sign of how you were feeling.

You nodded slowly, though the weight of Caracalla's words lingered in your mind. "I’m... I’m fine," you whispered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the truth.

Acacius pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. "You don’t have to pretend," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here."

You buried your face in his chest, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. "It’s just too much," you whispered. "Everything... it’s too much."

He tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know," he said softly. "But we’ll get through this."

Acacius held you close, his voice low but determined. "I’m taking you away from here," he said, his tone filled with resolve. "You’ve endured enough. I’ll defeat Geta and Caracalla, bring down their empire, and when it’s safe... I’ll come back for you."

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. "Acacius, that’s treason. it’s too dangerous. If they find out-"

"They won’t," he interrupted firmly, his hands tightening on your arms. "I have an army. Men who are loyal to me only. They’ll arrive in a 3 days and we’re bringing Rome to what it was, but I need you to out of here before that.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the weight of what he was proposing sinking in. "Acacius, you can’t be serious," you whispered, fear creeping into your voice. "This is madness. If they discover your plans, they’ll kill you. They’ll kill us."

His expression softened, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I’ve never been more serious," he said quietly. "I’ve watched this empire fall apart under their rule, seen too many suffer because of their greed and cruelty. I won’t let it continue. Not while I have the power to stop it."

You shook your head, heart pounding. "And what about me? You’re asking me to leave, to run while you stay and fight. I can’t do that, Acacius. I can’t leave you behind."

He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes intense but filled with a deep affection. "I need you safe," he insisted. "If you stay, they’ll use you against me. They’ll hurt you to get to me, and I can’t allow that."

Tears welled in your eyes again as the weight of his words pressed down on you. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"You won’t," he promised, his thumb brushing away a tear that escaped down your cheek. "I’ll come back for you. I swear it."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "Then at least you’ll be safe," he said softly. "And you’ll know that I did everything I could to make things right."

"I can't leave my brother behind," you said, your voice trembling as you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his face.

Acacius froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Lucius is alive," you confessed, the weight of the secret you’d been holding finally lifting from your chest. "The gladiator I healed... that's my brother.”

His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "Your brother?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "Lucius... he's alive?"

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. "He survived all these years, but I couldn’t tell anyone. If Geta or Caracalla found out, they would kill him.”

Acacius ran a hand through his hair, taking a step back as he tried to process the revelation. "This... changes everything," he muttered, his mind racing. "Lucius is alive?”

You nodded.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. "We’ll have to get him out, too," he said, his voice resolute. "I won’t leave your brother behind. We’ll take him with us."

Acacius stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close once more. His embrace was firm yet gentle, a silent promise of solidarity and protection. You leaned into him, finding comfort in his warmth, the weight of your shared burden momentarily lifted.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The gravity of what lay ahead hung heavy in the air, but there was also an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual resolve to face the impending storm together.

Everything that hurt you, it hurt him. Every broken piece that fell out from your heart got stuck on your skin. Everything about the world he used to hate, he loved it now. You had made his life bearable because every time he opened his eyes and saw your lashes kissed your skin, how your chest inhale and exhale. He was glad he had survived thousands of battles just for his fate ending up being next to you. He would choose this path again and he would vow his promise to Lucilla just to kiss your face all over again.

And just as his promised he would put your life under protection to end the reign that had taunted you for so many years.

“I’ll end this” Acacius murmured against your hair, his voice steady with determination. “I’ll save Lucius, and I’ll put an end to Geta and Caracalla’s reign, and you will be out, safe for now.”

You nodded against his chest, knowing damn well that your plan wasn’t the same as his, but both of them would meet the same fate.

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capuccinodoll · 3 days ago

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Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”

You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.

“That Frankie?”

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?”

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.

He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.”

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.

“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?”

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought.

You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong.

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you.

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.

Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.

“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t.

“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.

Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening.

For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter.

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage.

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently.

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more.

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.

“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 6th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—”

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it.

Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.

“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral.

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?”

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak.

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—”

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.

"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view.

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.

“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.

“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.

“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”

“I know.”

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”

You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.

“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.

Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee.

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.

He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”

“Next Saturday.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.

You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.

You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

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dirtyvulture · 15 hours ago

Text

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip–”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate.

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out.

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.”

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan.

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

***********************************************************************

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you.

***********************************************************************

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes.

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases.

You turn and wink at her.

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie.

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say.

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you.

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha.

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand.

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her.

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this.

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you.

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though.

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

***********************************************************************

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn.

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly.

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor.

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her.

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration.

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind.

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue.

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer.

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours.

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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josephscoat · 2 days ago

Text

The Budgerigar Burglars

"A little birdie told me something..."

@professorcalculusstanaccount, thank you for doing the promotional/cover art of the story!! I would also like to thank them for bouncing ideas with me and subsequently proof/beta reading chapter 1 ― they’ve been very supportive and encouraging.

While I was unable to post on the actual dates I set up due to some personal reasons on my end, I will *hopefully* have it out sooner or later.

As a sort of teaser 2, here’s the first 101 words of The Budgerigar Burglars by @professorcalculusstanaccount and me, Jo :> !

Tintin was Bobbie’s most expensive drunken purchase.

He can’t remember much from the night he got the cockatiel, much less how he got his name― he just woke up with a pounding headache one morning, to a bird singing showtunes in his ear, in the dilapidated state of their (once shared) apartment.

Recalling past events, it was the night they’d finally settled for the divorce; his then wife was packing her belongings, planning to head off to who knows where and Bobbie was drinking enough spirits that could turn him into a spirit, if he kept at it for too long.

When the full thing does come out, I plan post it on to AO3 and post a link to the fic here on Tumblr.

For slightly more info on what the story and AU is about, click on to here to visit teaser 1 which is also the current pinned post of my blog!

#the adventures of tintin #tintin #snowy | milou #tintin et milou #the many misadventures of monsieur milou and cocka-tin #tmmommac au #the budgerigar burglars #dividers are by @inklore btw!!#kabado bente si ate gurl niyo guys #charot lang mas matatanda pa ang karamihan sa inyo kaysa sakin hahah...

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nightingale-prompts · 1 day ago

Text

The Eldritch Coffeehouse-DCxDP prompt-part 2(I guess)

Part 1

Elle had a way of convincing people. Like how she convinced Damian Wayne that they were now best friends and to come over to her family's business after-school.

Damian was only going along with this because of the prodding of his family to make friends. This wasn't something that came easy to him as no one would understand him. But Nightingale had been more understanding than most in his life. She was very...nice. She had these big ideas that always went ahead of her and plans that were larger than life. She always had too much energy and found it hard in school to get it out. Naturally, she was head of the track team but she'd always complain about wanting to join the music club.

Jon had met her once while trying to sneak up on them at the end of the day. She pinned him in a triangle chokehold until Damian called her off. Damian didn't call her off immediately though.

She was still more apologetic than he liked.

"I can make it up to you guys. Let's go to my family's café! We can eat ourselves sick on pastries and cake! My brother should still be making hot chocolate right now!" She told them.

Damian was nice enough to tell Dick where he was going and to not wait up. Alfred was already in the car in front of the school and drove the three to the...graveyard?

"Thank you Mister Pennyworth! Do you want to join us?" Elle asked loudly but politely.

Alfred accepted graciously and agreed to stay for a cup of tea before heading back. He would come pick up Damian later.

The walk through the graveyard was daunting for Jon and only for Jon. It wasn't as scary as he thought since it was only the afternoon and the weather was warm. A few cats rested on tombstones soaking in the heat. A few birds gathered here and there hunting for worms and seeds. There were food and water dishes here and there for the felines and fresh seeds sprinkled on the grass for the birds.

"I usually clean and change the food dishes in the morning. But Dan likes to feed the birds."

Elle walked the row of mausoleums until she stopped at one and pushed the stone door open and a skipped down a stairs and opened the smooth mahogany door in the café.

Behind the counter a young man stood pouring drinks.

"Elle you're back. Take this cup to table 3." He said putting a cup and saucer on a serving tray.

"I just got here! At least let me change or tell you we have guests." She whined but picked up the trey and marched over to the table.

"Guests? I'm sorry. Welcome to the Catacomb Club. How can we make your afterlife?" He said smoothly.

"Elle said we could eat sweets," Jon spoke up first and Damian elbowed him.

"Oh? Well, we have a batch of leftovers from this morning. Since you're her school friends you can get some from the kitchen." The barista said.

"Yay! Thanks Danny!" Elle had returned and opened the door to the backroom to grab some fresh plates and loading them up with sweets.

"Anything I can get for you, sir?" Danny asked Alfred.

"Just an Earl Gray. Or an Early Grave as you call it on the menu." Alfred said.

***

Elle presents a variable buffet of sweets to the boys. She really meant it when she said eat themselves sick.

The menu had no shortage of available snacks:

Tombstone Tarts – Mini fruit tarts with gravestone-shaped pastry toppers. (Jazz's pick)

Phantom Opera Cake – Layers of dark chocolate and coffee mousse with a smoky glaze.(Save a slice for Danny's SPECIAL guest (Jazz STOP)

Ethereal Cheesecake – A white chocolate cheesecake with a "foggy" vanilla glaze (You can just slap the word ethereal on things when you can't come up with something witty.) (Watch me)

Shadow Éclairs – Black cocoa éclairs filled with blood orange cream. (DANNY STOP EATING THE ORANGES) (no)

Soulful Scones – Charcoal scones served with berry jam and clotted cream.

Midnight Mocha Cupcakes – Chocolate cupcakes with espresso buttercream and a ghostly fondant topper. (Ew fondant)

Cemetery Soil – Chocolate pudding "dirt" with gummy worms and cookie gravestones. (Dani ate all the gummy worms again)

Wraith Cupcakes – Vanilla cupcakes with smoky gray frosting and sugar ghost toppers. (Dani's favorite)

Blackberry Bat Muffins – Dark muffins with blackberry compote and bat-shaped toppers. (Save some for that Cass girl)

Candied Skull Pops – Lollipops shaped like skulls in eerie colors.

Necropolis Nougat – Black and white nougat with bits of candied nuts and dried fruit. (Dan's favorite) (Weirdo)

Spirit’s Whisper Bark – White and dark chocolate bark with ghostly swirls and edible glitter.(please don't let Dani eat the glitter)

Moonlight Marshmallows – Homemade marshmallows in ghost or crescent moon shapes. (Danny's favorite)

Blood Velvet Rolls – Red velvet Swiss rolls filled with red cream cheese frosting. (Dan's favorite) (you can't have more than one favorite) (watch me)

Just like the rest of the menu there were comments going back and forth.

"The workers seem to argue constantly." Damian said bitting into a tart

Jon was making his way through the cake pops first.

"Well, we are family. We argue all the time but we don't mean it. Although I'm still mad they didn't like my dessert list." Elle sighed.

"Like what?" Damian asked.

"I had so many ideas like Eyeball pops filled with jelly, Bloody Bones white chocolate covered in raspberry syrup, or Maggot Macaroons with gummy worms in them," Elle said wiggling her fingers to mimic worms. "But Jazz said they were too gross sounding to sell. Humans have such weak stomachs."

Damian wanted to point out that Jon wasn't human and even he turned green. Damian on the other hand was intrigued. Elle was always entertaining to listen to.

The three enjoyed their snacks after Alfred finished his tea and took off.

Jon's Kryptonian appetite helped get through the bulk of it because Damian stopped short to not spoil his appetite.

This was wise since the Cafe preparing to switch to its bar setting with a more lively Jazz band and dinner menu.

Jon groaned at the thought of more food as he rested his face on the cool polished wood that smelled faintly of rose incense. He should have noticed by now that something as off but his stomach has been a major distraction. Had it been his father then who was trained to sense the issue the jig would have been up.

You see, they were the only mortals in the room.

Not one heartbeat could be heard. Jon should have known so much earlier when Elle managed to surprise him without her heart rate going up.

"Dani- I mean Elle?" A voice from the kitchen called.

A young woman with long red locks came into view. Her dress, a 50s style black tea-length poodle skirt. Instead of the usual poodle pattern on the hem, there was a white skeletal cat. She had on a pair of balck frilled short gloves. Other than her dress she wore an apron with a black ribcage design that matched the uniforms of the other workers/family members here. Her teal eyes softened when she saw Elle sitting with her friends

"Yeah, Jazz?" Elle asked.

"Do you still want to go on stage tonight or do you want to stay with your friends? And do you still want dinner?" Jazz asked in succession.

"I'm still going to do my set. And can I get carbonara and a glass of...um..." Elle struggled to find the word for the liquid that every undead in the area came here for. "My medicine."

Damian's ear picked up the hesitation in her voice.

"You take a perception?" Damian said perhaps a bit thoughtless since not everyone wants to talk about their medical issues. But he had never seen her take medicine at school and didn't know a medication that would be taken later in the day that wasn't also taken early.

"Kinda, it's something I have to take to keep living. But it like it, the juice I mean. You'd like it too but you don't need it. Dan is kinda stingy with who gets some. You types aren't allowed. Only members." Elle knew that this place was an open secret. It's not like they kept their ghostly nature secret. Everyone just thinks they are keeping up the theme while they were all completely serious. Besides lying isn't their nature.

Still, Elle wasn't being completely honest which isn't something that comes naturally to her. Bending the truth will have to do.

Damian let it go for now. He didn't need to know her medical history...yet.

Jon was taking a nap now anyways. Damian stole his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to the Kent family in case they wanted to know where Jonathan was.

Ellehad to change clothes into her uniform and grab her violin. It wasn't a surprise to Damian who knew she like music but he had never heard her play. Now she was on stage playing with the folk band as the guest clapped and danced.

Jazz brought out some food for them to eat while Danny traded places with a tall burly man who was definitely the eldest brother.

As Damian ate he listened to Elle play...well the band play but it was mostly Elle who he was listening for. He heard a familiar voice from behind his booth and when he looked over it was none other than Jason fucking Todd talking to the bartender. Talking? I meant failing miserably to flirt and having the tables turned on him easily.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #batman #damian wayne #jason todd #jonathan kent

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celestialgalaxyglow · 2 days ago

Text

Batfam and Danny, Part 9

At the Justice League Watchtower.

Diana: Good morning everyone and thank you for coming to this pronto meeting. I known we all have busy schedules so I'll make this quick. Bruce, Clark, and I have been investigating an operation by Lex Luthor. He has been moving round large amounts of radioactive material to a secret lab in the Sahara Desert, we currently do not know what he is planning but last night the radioactivity around the base spiked. We believe that there was some leak of the radioactive materials and we need a plan to contain it.

J'ohn: Are there any civilians in the region?

Clark: No, the lab is far out into the desert. The closest town is a small village with a population of about 1000 people an hour and a half away.

Hal: I could but up a temporary shield around the lab and try to contain the radiation as much as possible.

Bruce: That would be a good start.

Arthur: This is concerning, how can I help?

Diana: There is another shipment currently on a Lexcorp boat heading towards a port in Algiers we need you to stop it.

Bruce: Oliver, you will help Arthur take control of the ship.

Oliver: Got it.

Diana: Barry, while we believe the town and its residents will be safe, we'd like to keep you on stand by just in case.

Barry: Yes ma'am!

Diana: That's all from us. Now that we are together we should start making a solid plan, we start this operation 10pm, local time in Algeria. That gives us 8 hours to prepare. Any questions?

Oliver: Just one question, who's Bruce's new kid?

Everyone turned to look at Danny.

Danny: Hi!

Bruce: This is Danny, alias Phantom, he's Jason's kid... and my grandson.

Barry (laughing): Congratulations Bruce, you're a thirty-one-year-old grandfather.

Arthur: Is he helping us with the operation?

Diana: Yes, Danny is half-ghost and immune to radiation, he'll be helpful if the radiation levels are higher than we expect.

J'onn: You have a quite mind young one.

Danny: If I let you read my thoughts there's a fifty-fifty chance your brain may get scrambled.

J'onn: I see...

Billy: I'm here! Sorry I'm late, just had to finish something before I could leave- Billy looked around the room till he saw Danny. He jumped back and covered his ears.

Clark: You ok there Billy?

Billy: Who is that kid?

Danny: I'm Bruce's grandson.

Billy: ...

Clark: Why?

J'ohn: The gods in Billy's mind all just screamed bloody murder and told him that under no circumstances, should he make Danny mad.

Everyone looked at Danny but before anyone could ask question Constantine walked in.

Constantine: You known if you're going to call a random meeting at least give us more than 3 hours to get ready- Constantine froze when he saw Danny. Shit...

Danny (grinning): Constantine!

Bruce: You two know each other?

Danny: Yes, he's the fool that sold his sold his soul to a hundred separate demons who are all now petition me to decide who actually owns his soul.

Constantine: ...

Hal: Why would they petition you?

Danny: I'm their king.

JL: What!?

Danny: And another thing Constantine, come over here. A green light encircled Constantine throwing him across the room, placing down in a chair next to Danny. You didn't pay your taxes for the last tax season.

Constantine: I- your majesty, I'm not a citizen of the Infinite Realms.

Danny: Actually you are! Danny summoned a scroll. According to section 8, subsection 45, clause B of the Infinite Realms Citizenship and Nationality Status Governing Deaths, Resurrections, and All Other Avoidances of Death Act, also known as the IRCNSGDRAOADA, due to your soul being more than 80% owned by citizens of the Infinite Realms, you too are a citizen of the Infinite Realms, and thus have to pay taxes.

Constantine: I-

Danny: You owe the Crown, aka me, $25,000.

Constantine (nervous): Would your majesty be so kind as to wave my taxes for this year, given I did not know I had to pay?

Danny: I'll give you... 120 days to come up with the money, if not I'll send the tax collectors after you.

Constantine (terrified): You- you're too kind your majesty. Constantine picked up a folder from the table. I'll just read the report... I- got to go. Constantine left the room.

Bruce (tired): Danny...

Danny: I was joking, I'll wave the his missing taxes.

Hal: Why is he so scared of tax collectors?

Danny: The tax collectors in the Infinite Realms are not just nerds with suitcases, they are nerds with suitcases that also carry paintball guns.

J'onn: Paintball guns?

Danny: The paint will never come off till you pay your taxes.

Berry: That sounds so fun!

Arthur: I'm happy to have another king on the team. Finally I have some to talk to about the duties of ruling.

Danny: Tell me about it, for some reason, people can't just do as their told.

Arthur (crying): You understand me my pain.

Clark: Where does your family find these children?

Bruce: We don't find them, they find us!

Diana: As fun as this whole conversation is we do need to prepare for the mission. Let's get to work.

JL: Yes ma'am!

(Master Post)

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buecketsnbueckets · 2 days ago

Text

face to face | P.B

summary: you and paige have been nonstop texting since that day she messaged you. a friendship is forming so what better thing for friendship than to invite her to stay with you for a weekend in LA?

pairing: actress!reader x paige bueckers

contains: tooth rotting fluff, a little bit of tension, THEYRE MEETING!!!

a/n: here’s part 2 of actress reader and paige. things are getting serious!! my inbox is open for more oneshot ideas <3 we’re gonna ignore how long this took me to write!

Interviews had died down now that you weren’t in any projects coming up. Yeah, you had a few more red carpets but there was nothing else for you to promote so you were pretty bored.

Your and Paige’s relationship was feverishly growing within the past two weeks. You were texting one another almost everyday and now that college was out for the summer, you brought up an idea to Rachel while you were relaxing as a little girls night with face masks and drinks.

“Do you think I should invite Paige to stay here for a few days?” You brought up as you took a sip of your homemade mixture of vodka and apple juice.

Rachel sat upright from your oh-so-soft comforter, her sheet mask nearly falling off of her face from the sudden rush.

“Like stay here at your apartment?” She questions, smoothing down the sheet back onto her face as she speaks.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want her to stay at some dingy hotel.”

Rachel hums in thought as she tries to think of a few reasons why it could be a bad idea but her mind blanked.

“You know what? Yeah. I say go for it. I want to meet this girl.” Rachel encourages as she motions to your phone that was charging on the bedside table.

As you scramble to text her, you pause your movements before turning to Rachel with a worried expression.

“Wait, what if she says no? What if she thinks I’m a weirdo because I’m inviting her to stay at my place after knowing her for almost 3 weeks?”

Rachel let out an exasperated sigh at your doubting thoughts.

“Don’t piss me off. Text that girl right now so you can plan it out.”

Before you knew it, you were driving home from the airport with Paige in your passenger's seat. You made small talk throughout the drive, warming up to each other’s personalities and presence.

“Here is my place. You can just set your stuff in my room.” You explain to Paige as you open the front door, allowing her to step in.

Her ponytail swung to the side as she looked around the space, whistling lowly at how large it was. You flush at her reaction and shake your head as you shut the door, locking it behind you.

“You got a nice place. Hollywood treats you nice,” the blonde teases your slight luxury apartment.

You motion to your bedroom with an eye roll. “Go and put your stuff down so we can get started on those pizza’s, Bueckets.”

She chuckled at your words as her tongue prods at her inner cheek and walks over to your bedroom, setting them by the closet door. You and Paige decided to make these flower margherita pizza for her first night. It was just three days you were getting her here in LA and you were saving sightseeing for tomorrow. Plus, you wanted to get to know her in person, not over the internet.

You don’t really know what you’re expecting from this weekend but you were more than excited. Once you have given Paige a mini tour of your apartment, you turn to her with a beaming grin, practically bouncing on the balls on your feet. It was evening now, a soft orange hue flowing through your tall windows as you played Spotify on the TV in your living room. Reluctantly, you allowed Paige to be in charge of that for the night.

She was the guest after all.

“So, I heard you like Shirley Temples so,” you motion for her to follow you to your kitchen, grabbing onto the cool handle of the refrigerator and tugging it open to peek into it. “I made you a pitcher of it.”

Paige’s jaw drops at the sight of the large glass of her favorite drink, running a hand over her mouth as she glances at you in shock.

“Nah, no way you did this,” she shakes her head in amusement as she reaches for it.

“I did, I did,” you nod with a proud grin, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought it would go well with our pizza’s.”

Paige thanks you with an absolutely giddy smile as she just drinks it straight out of the pitcher. You honestly didn't mind as you weren’t the biggest Shirley Temple fan. You giggle as you whip out your phone from your back pocket to take photos of her.

You had to pry it from her fingers as your hunger was taking over. To your surprise, the dynamic between the two of you was if you were childhood friends reconnecting after not seeing each other for ages. After you set down the pitcher, you pull out the dough from the freezer and the rest of the necessary ingredients needed; the sauce, cheese and basil leaves.

As you place the round pieces of mozzarella in the flower shape, you glance at Paige’s focused expression as she does the same. You purse your lips to hide how overwhelmingly ecstatic you were to have her here.

“So, how are you dealing with this,” you motion with a piece in your hand as you spoke, trying to find the right words, “attention you’re getting?”

Paige hums in thought as she looks to you as if it would help her explain it better.

“I mean, I don’t know. At first, it was so weird like people just know who I am and what I do. Most people are nice though. Respectful and considerate. I appreciate that,” she tells you slowly, her smile growing. “I mean, I definitely don’t think I would’ve met you without it so that’s a big plus.”

“Corny,” you tease as you shake your head. “But no, I get it. It can be overwhelming sometimes. I know how it feels. If you ever, you know, need someone to talk to about it, you have my number for a reason.”

Paige’s eyes round at your offer, nodding to herself as she takes your words in with consideration.

“Thank you,” she licks her lips before dusting off her hands as she finishes her side of the pizza. “I think we’re done, yeah?”

You nod in agreement, feeling a bit accomplished with the pizza. It looked almost exactly like the photo reference you had gotten from Pinterest.

“Wait, hold on,” you take a quick photo of the pizza and then motion for Paige to stand next to it.

She does so with glee, grinning and staring at you from behind your phone. You make it her profile picture with a shit-eating grin on your face and jerk your head to the preheated oven.

“Alright now we’re good. It says to leave it in for 10-15 so we’ll check on it then.” You instruct the blonde to place it in the middle.

“Yes ma’am,” Paige mutters to herself as she does as she’s told.

You stare at her bent down figure and shake your head as if it would be rid of the heat flooding your cheeks. She’s just being respectful and you were flustered like a schoolgirl with a crush.

You thought with your years of hiding these feelings you would succeed at some point.

Thankfully, Paige was too focused on not burning her arms to see your expression.

“So what do you have planned for me this weekend?” Paige questioned as she folded her arms and stood back up to face you.

“Well, I think we could visit all of the Walk of Fame, go to In and Out, maybe go to Santa Monica beach at sunset, very L.A things, you know?” You explain to the blonde with a giddy grin.

Paige nods along with your brief explanation of what you had mentally prepped with your new… friend? Yeah, she was a friend.

What else would she be?

“Damn, I was hoping to get a BBL or something,” she sighs in faux disappointment.

“Oh, next time, for sure,” you pat your shoulder to console her, chuckling at her words.

Paige whistles as she slightly leans closer to you. “Are you sugar-mommying me with your Hollywood money?”

You roll your eyes at her words but can’t help the smile itching at your lips as you point to her pitcher of Shirley temple and then to her pink lips.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Paige raises her hands up before taking the pitcher into her larger palms once again.

The two of you continue to talk all night as you feast on the rather delicious pizza. You wouldn’t dare utter the words yet but your crush was swelling on the blonde. Sure, yes, you had the two of you get along, which you did, but you were hoping that she would expose that she had a secret girlfriend or something.

Nope: free as a bird.

You pushed the creeping feelings back into the depths of your brain throughout the weekend as you didn’t want to center your feelings but her time here in L.A. With her, you weren’t really focused on whether or not you had to be insanely picture perfect every time you took a step outside or avoiding certain places due to paparazzi; you could enjoy every moment with her without second-guessing.

It was… peaceful. A breath of fresh air.

She even met Rachel when the girl had ‘coincidentally’ showed up at a coffee shop you two were at on Sunday. You knew she had your location so you weirdly weren’t shocked at all by this. The two thankfully got along. Rachel didn’t miss an opportunity to raise her brows at you, nodding in approval of the basketball player when she excused herself to the bathroom at some point.

“She’s hotter in person, dude. Good for you,” she whispers with a bubbly grin.

“I hate you,” you sigh but internally agree.

She was just irritatingly perfect in every way.

Fuck.

yourusername my weekend! 😝

tagged: @paigebueckers

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paigebueckers | I had fun I guess 🤣

↳ yourusername | never come back 💜

comment liked by paigebueckers

rachelzegler | i think i’m still blinded by the red lights 😵‍💫

↳ yourusername | shine some blue light to even it out 😇

randomuser | Not Paige hounding a whole pitcher of Shirley Temple😭😭

comment liked by author

↳ yourusername | JUST GREEDY🙄

↳ paigebueckers | You made it for me 💔

randomuser | this feels like a hard launch goodbye.

randomuser | NOBDOY MOVE?!&!-!&!1&2!

kamoreaarnold | Okay LA girl!!!😝😝

↳ yourusername | i fear she’s changed

↳ paigebuckers | Nah I’m still me 😎

↳ yourusername | alr cornball

comment liked by paigebueckers

randomuser | why is no one talking about how they literally had never interacted until almost a month ago and now they’re HANGING OUT??

randomuser | WE DID THIS GUYS!!!!

comment liked by rachelzegler

randomuser | RACHEL…..

williamskayla_ | Now i’m jealous! That pizza looks good 😔

↳ yourusername | i told paige to bring everyone next time 😩

TAG-LIST: @jnkbueckers @ch-3-rry @sayurireidotcom @numberonepartyanth3m @ddeonmixx @simp4women08

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #sapphic #wlw #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball

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thatonesonicfanfictionwriter · 2 days ago

Note

Shadow x reader

but like shadow is introducing her to like sonic and the others lol

I want to see Sonic be like ‘how tf-‘

-🩸

“Awkward Introduction”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Female Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: No one, except for maybe Rouge, thought Shadow would ever get a partner. Well, here you were! And things were going to get awkward, real fast.

Notes: Oooh, this one will be a lot of fun! Awkward stuff is pretty funny! Hope you enjoy, anon! (Blood anon? Should I call you that based on the emoji?-)

(Reader will use She/They pronouns.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

It’s a normal day in Autumn Village, your hometown.

You’re relaxing with your boyfriend, Shadow the Hedgehog, the two of you cuddling while watching a movie.

Shadow has his head on your lap, making a quiet clicking sound as you pet his quills, his quills being in a relaxed stature so he doesn’t prick you.

The two of you remain this way until Shadow’s communicator on the nearby table rings, causing him to grumble, the clicking noise (which you found out was him purring) stopping.

He gets up from your lap, grabbing his communicator from the table and answering it with a grumpy face.

“What do you want,” Shadow spats out.

“Whaat, can’t I ask my favorite rival on a race?” a voice from the communicator asks.

“No, Sonic. I’m busy,” Shadow states.

“There’s no way you’re busy!” Sonic says as-a-matter-of-factly. “Besides, our friends planned a picnic for us and I thought a race would get you to come!”

“Your friends,” Shadow corrects.

“Amy even brought a dark chocolate cake!” Sonic says.

Damnit, dark chocolate cake was his favorite.

Shadow lets out a sigh.

“Fine. But I’m bringing someone along,” Shadow says before hanging up. “You up for a picnic, [Name]?”

“Oh, sure! We can finish our Pokémon movie when we get back,” you say with a smile. You pause the movie and turn off the TV, getting up from the couch and putting your shoes on.

Shadow opens the door for you and the two of you exit the house, Shadow closing the door before smirking, picking you up in a bridal style carry before running at high speeds towards the picnic location as you wrap your arms around his neck.

When you two arrive at the location, all eyes are immediately on you as Shadow sets you down. Everyone seems flabbergasted.

“Um…Hello!” you say, waving slightly, a bit nervous.

“Hi! My name is Tails, it’s nice to meet you!” the two-tailed fox says.

“Who’s she, Shads?” Sonic asks.

“This is [Name],” Shadow starts. “My partner.”

Everyone’s mouth goes agape, until the pink-quilled hedgehog and the white-furred bat suddenly squeal out of happiness.

“Congratulations, Shadow!” the hedgehog says, giving him a hug. “I knew you could do it!”

“Good job, hun, took you a while to confess,” the bat says.

“Rouge, her and I have been dating for five months,” Shadow states.

“You’ve kept this a secret for five months?!” Sonic asks.

“Wow Sonic, how’d Shadow manage to get a girl before you?” the red echidna asks.

“Shut it, Knuckles,” Sonic grumbles.

“Hmph, some “fastest thing alive” you are, Sonic,” Shadow says with a smirk.

“You, Shads, are a butt,” Sonic says.

You let out a giggle. This’ll certainly be interesting to get used to.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic fanfiction #shadow the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #x reader #sonic oneshot #sonic oneshots #requested oneshot #oneshot #sonic characters x reader #sonic character x reader #etc #insert tag here

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supergraphicgirl81 · 3 days ago

Text

Destiny is Calling Me `♡´. ₊˚ ☎︎₊˚

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: After hurriedly being rushed to the club by Lando and Logan, Oscar grapples with flashbacks of his past relationship and ponders the idea of fate as he unexpectedly runs into his long-term ex-girlfriend in a run-down college club after over a year and a half of not talking, at a school neither of them planned on going.

Warnings: none, just some cursing

Words: ....9.7K

Authors Notes: Okay guys it's happening. I’m literally about to go out to the club but I wanted to make sure I got this out first, I finally tried writing a full story. NFBJFBOUERBGPRE I'm so nervous but this plot has been haunting my mind for ages now and I needed it in actual words, so here it is. Guys if it is bad just tell me PLEASE but other than that I really hope you guys enjoy !!!!!!!! BTW it's very long, so sorry

Oscar didn't know why he was there really.

What he did know was that he had just spent the past 7 hours studying for his Thermodynamics Exam that was on Monday and that he had to wake up at 8 a.m. to do it all over again tomorrow.

But like any good teammate, or well roommate in this case, when Lando and Logan text you in dire need of assistance at the club, you go with no hesitation, even if they failed to mention that the “emergency” was Oscar's so-called loneliness that Lando claims he could smell even from across the screen.

Oscar met Logan on the first day of college freshman year in some random class he can barely remember now. Logan always says it was Anthropology but Oscar swears it was Humanities.

On the first day of class, Logan had to ask Oscar for a pencil because he forgot one, which Oscar of course didn't mind giving, especially because he gave it back. So when Logan sat in the same seat right next to Oscar during their second class meeting and asked him again to borrow a pencil, an unannounced friendship was created.

After about a week of small talk between the two, Oscar learned that Logan was looking for a sport to fill up his schedule with while he was in the off-season for football. Oscar explained how he was actually looking to try out for the Ice Hockey team at the school if he also happened to be interested. He had played all throughout high school and was looking into picking it back up after taking a break.

It's safe to say Logan didn’t know how to play hockey, but he claimed he was a fast learner, Oscar still doesn’t know exactly how true that is.

Now, it just so happens that Logan and Oscar also ended up meeting Lando that same day. And by meeting I mean Lando ran right into Logan while riding his skateboard in a hurry to class. Lando made sure to quickly exchange his number before riding away (late) to class, sending many apologies later and even offering to hang out.

From there an odd but somewhat working trio was formed through many late-night hockey practices and class study sessions. Now in their second year and unfortunately living together, Lando and Logan are convinced about getting Oscar out of his shell and more into the scene in which Oscar always refuses. This leads him to where he is currently, at the club, on a Saturday night. Which to be fair, is probably where he should be anyway.

Unmoved by their usual antics Oscar rolls his eyes at the two before speaking up in a hurry, trying to leave as soon as possible

“Please don’t tell me you two called me down here because I was studying, in the quiet apartment, by myself?” Oscar emphasizes looking at Lando and Logan with his eyebrows raised and a deadpanned face.

Lando quickly looks away from staring at Oscar, quickly determining the floor to be more important as Logan tilts his head left and right, throwing his hands up in a shrug, making a weird face at Oscar.

That is exactly what they did.

After their faces and a silence that went on for a couple of seconds too long, Oscar exclaimed in annoyance, slightly throwing his hands out “Guys! I literally have a test on Monday, I’m in major study-panic mode, I can’t be wasting time here at the club.”

Lando immediately makes a shocked face at his words, offended by his soulless dismissal of the party life “But Oscarrrrrrrrr” He cries jumping up and down erratically before Logan puts a hand on his shoulder stopping him, and continuing on “Oh come on Oscar! Let’s be realistic here, you probably weren't even studying anyways, you were just listening to your “I’m still heartbroken over my ex” playlist, AGAIN” He insinuates, rolling his eyes at Oscar, he’s never met someone quite so down bad for a girl before, well besides maybe Charles Leclerc.

Oscar Deadpans before standing up for himself “The playlist is called Getting OVER My Ex, you know that!” rolling his eyes “And you would be too if you knew her!”

Logan lets out a loose chuckle as he moves forward to pull Oscar to the dance floor but Oscar quickly takes a step backward before any of the two boys can get him

“No. You know what?” Oscar states confidently, sticking his chest out hesitantly “I am leaving, get home safely.”

He swiftly turns around and is about to make his way to the exit, shaking his head ever so slightly when he freezes.

And there she is. Oscar sees her, clear as day. He could never mistake that familiar silhouette.

A blonde is briskly making her way through the crowded club into the bar line surrounded by two other girls. As he watches her go by from afar, he's taken aback, he still sees everything so clearly, just like it was yesterday.

FLASHBACK

It was Oscars freshman year and the first day back after Winter break, he was currently in between classes in the hallway and just about to head to the cafeteria to eat lunch with his friends. But first, he had to shove the extra textbooks Oscar checked out from the library for an up-and-coming project he had in his Biology class, into his locker.

Now Oscar oftentimes didn't mind work, but he couldn't believe that school had only just started back and his Bio teacher was already giving out projects to start. Not only that, but it was a partner project, meaning he either had to find a friend to partner with or just get stuck with a rando in his class picked for him by the teacher.

Guess which one Oscar was going with.

Oscar stood outside his locker messing with the lock trying to get it to open when he heard a familiar laugh. Looking up to his side at the noise he saw a group of girls walking and laughing down the halls, deep in conversation.

More importantly, he saw the prettiest girl ever, this blonde girl, Y/N L/N, he always saw her around school, she was in a couple of his classes, Biology actually being one of them.

One time in Biology she flipped her hair over her shoulder and then (accidentally) made eye contact with him and smiled, and he claims that that was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Looking back to his locker and continuing back to grumpily shoving his textbooks in his locker, Oscar blocked out all other noises and conversations around him, just like he always did.

So much so that he even failed to hear the little ‘Hellos’ coming from his right side. To be fair she was standing directly behind the locker.

Oscar didn't even notice somebody was standing there until he shut his locker door, slamming it admittedly a little harder than intended. This caused both Y/N and Oscar to jump.

Well, she jumped because of the unexpected loud sound, Oscar jumped because Y/N L/N was currently standing right in front of him.

After Oscar just stared at her in silence for a few seconds too long, Y/N cleared her throat and started to speak “Uh, you're Oscar right?” She asks, the slightest pink ever so dusting her cheeks. Oscar nodded his head, starting to smile ever so slightly responding with “Yeah I’m Oscar. Y/N right?”

Shocked he knew her name as well Y/N smiled even brighter, standing up straighter “Yeah! It is, You're in my biology class, right?” “I am! I was actually just putting away some extra books I picked up, just some topic points for the project coming up” Oscar responds, huffing slightly at the end, clearly annoyed at the idea of the project.

Laughing lightly at his loud, telltale emotions Y/N speaks up “How annoying right? Like we just got back from break, how are you already freaking me out about my grades.” Y/N states still laughing, rolling her eyes as she comfortably leans against the locker looking at Oscar.

He laughs along with her sentiments feeling the same way, not exactly knowing what to say next. She makes him nervous. Noticing the sudden silence, Y/N straightens up standing up off the lockers, clapping her hands before starting her proposition.

“Well! As you know the Biology project is partner work, and I know you said you kind of already started with topics and everything but I was wondering -if you didn't have one already- if you wanted to maybe be partners?”

Oscar cuts her off, quickly responding to her question “Yes! I mean yeah, that sounds cool, I don't mind showing you the topics I’ve thought about” Oscar stutters out trailing off towards the end, blushing slightly at his own eagerness and nerves.

He soon though relaxed once he saw her smiling, laughing slightly at him.

“Alright then.” Y/N smiles at him, blushing slightly as well “Sounds good.” She finishes as she reaches into her backpack's front pocket and pulls out a pen and a sticky note, moving it to the locker so she can write her number on it as Oscar just stares at her writing her number for him and hands him the sticky note once she's done.

Just then the bell rings signaling that Lunch is starting, Y/N smiles at Oscar one more time before saying “Bye Oscar! I’ll text you later!” and turning around, walking down the hall towards the cafeteria where her friends are.

Oscar can't help but continue to watch her walk down the hall until she's fully gone. Smiling to himself, he then turns back around to face his locker, opening it back up once more, this time pinning Y/Ns sticky note to the locker door before he closes it for the last time and heads off to the cafeteria. His lunch just got a whole lot better, he can’t wait to tell Daniel.

It has been a full year since Oscar last saw her, maybe even longer. He can’t believe he just saw her.

Suddenly Oscar is jolted out of his trance when he feels a hand on his shoulder shaking him slightly, he hears Lando speak up “Uh Oscar, are you alright?”,

Logan asks quickly after “Yeah buddy, you kinda froze, me and Lando thought you were leaving?”

“She’s here” Oscar ominously states with slightly wide eyes.

Lando swiftly looks to his right and left scrunching up his face before speaking back up, scared of Oscar's implications, asking “Uh who’s she?”

Oscar then rolls his eyes shaking Lando's hand off of him before turning around and facing the two boys, crossing his arms, shiftily looking over their shoulders on the lookout, “My ex, I just saw her standing right over there in line, with her friends” Oscar states as he points towards the bar line on the far left side of the club.

The sound of the revelation causes Lando to let out the biggest gasp Oscar’s ever heard from him (and that's saying a lot) while Logan's eyes bulge out of his head, mouth agape. The two boys who were taken aback and stunned into silence quickly burst out into questions, loudly overlapping each other

“What do you mean your ex?” “Now are we sure it was her?” “Like THE three-and-a-half-year long ex?”

Oscar again rolls his eyes at the two antics (he swears his eyes really are going to get stuck like that), looking to the side towards the bar area spotting a glimpse of the familiar blonde hair now walking towards the dance floor, Oscar sighs before explaining shortly, “Of course I mean that ex, shes my only ex!” Oscar exclaims impatiently at Logan and Lando as he faces them again closing his eyes shortly,

“I’m unfortunately 100% certain that's her, I would recognize her anywhere. Literally, what do I do, she hates me! The last time I saw her she was uncontrollably crying at me. I have to leave now!” Oscar starts to ramble off, going through with his final decision, turning around and briskly starting to walk away before Lando can grab him by the shoulders and pull Oscar back to the two. After being pulled back deeper into the club, Oscar shuts his eyes tightly in order to avoid the situation at hand.

At the sudden, and very rare moment of silence, Oscar reopens his eyes to be met with Lando looking at his face all twisting up with concern, and Logan staring at him looking more determined than ever with his fist to his mouth, deep in thought.

Lando can't help but mumble quietly in response to Oscar as he awkwardly looks around the club “Well you did break her heart, I’d be crying too.” and Oscar can't help but let out a groan at Lando's insinuation as Logan starts his new plan of action for the night.

“Well okay now..” Oscar groans again, louder this time not wanting to hear what Logan has to say, throwing his hands up, Logan continues

“Let’s! Think about this. Oscar, what is exactly so bad about this whole thing?” Logan asks genuinely, waving his hands around towards the hand.

With a face in shock and eyebrows raised high Oscar answers “Great question Logan, Let's see! Well uh for starters we dated for three amazing years and were supposed to last throughout college, until what happened again? Oh right! Until I broke us up right when high school ended so we could” Oscar finishes with quotations “experience life individually”

At the sound of Oscar's reasoning behind his and Y/Ns breakup, Oscar could see Lando's mouth drop even further, somehow more in shock Oscar would do something like that, and he himself couldn’t agree more.

Logan slightly cringes as Oscar explains his past before speaking up again “Okay, I’m hearing the issue, but still! What about the other parts of the three years, where you weren't breaking up with her? Weren’t they good?”

At Logan's simple but taxing question, Oscar lets out another breath he didn't notice he was holding as he answers him “Of course, they were good, being with her was the time of my life”

Oscar can’t help but smile ever so timidly as he remembers one of his favorite moments with her. God, it felt like so long ago now.

FLASHBACK

Oscar was currently running around his room tidying it up in the last places he could as he frantically looked at the clock. 2:52. Fuck. She’s almost here.

Ever since that one fateful locker meeting where Y/N and Oscar decided to be Project partners, Y/N has been over at Oscar's house around three times a week to study, or at least that's what they were saying.

Now realistically when Y/N came over they spent about 25% doing the project, the rest of the 75% came in just talking, driving around the city, and hanging out with each other.

It started as just normal studying until Oscar asked if she wanted him to walk her home one night, and when she happily obliged, they got to talking. This led to talking during the study sessions, which then turned to talking over text, constantly, which led them to where they are today.

Not that Oscar was complaining, he has never had a better time while doing his homework.

But she's been coming around so often now that it's gotten even harder to just push his feelings aside. Especially when he's trying to explain presentation points to her and she’s just staring at him, smiling, he has a hard time staying on topic.

Sometimes he thinks he's positive that she returns his feelings, cause surely nobody wants to actually meet up that many times to go over a project, right? But some days he also realizes that you're Y/N and he's Oscar and that he's realistically never stood a chance.

So naturally, with the abundance of hanging out going on, Oscar invited Y/N, yet again, today after school to continue working on their Biology project, to which Y/N of course obliged.

Which leads him to where he currently was, frantically pacing around his room waiting for the clock to strike 3.

Just as Oscar was sorting out a couple of last loose items on his desk he heard a knock at his door, promptly causing him to roll his eyes, moving to open his bedroom door while simultaneously jokingly, but not jokingly scolding his mother “What Mom? You know Y/Ns coming over, what's so import-” Oscar stops mid-sentence as he opens his door to see Y/N standing there, in all her glory.

Making a shocked face, cheeks blushing ever so lightly, Oscar chuckles “Y/N! You are indeed not my mother” Oscar laughs it off, trying his hardest to not make things awkward as he stands frozen in the doorway.

Y/N noticing his very obvious nerves, tilts her head to the side and laughs it off “I am indeed not your mother. That would make this a little weird.” She ever so slightly insinuates pushing past Oscar and the door, into his room immediately making her way to his bed, after carelessly throwing her backpack to the side, she jumps onto Oscar's bed and flips around, lying on her stomach, kicking her feet up in the air.

Oscar watches in awe as she makes her way confidently through his room, straight to his bed. He shakes his head ever so slightly at her throwing her backpack before moving across the room as well, plopping down right next to her on his bed, laying down on his back.

Taking in the silence and her presence, Oscar closes his eyes briefly.

However after a couple of minutes, slightly perturbed by the silence from the usually chatty girl, Oscar reopens his eyes to check and see what she's up to.

He was deeply surprised to be met with her eyes already staring at him, she was smiling warmly at him with the faintest pink cheeks, hair strands falling down her face, she looked kind of perfect.

Caught off guard by the hard-staring Oscar raised a brow at her already questioning actions, before vaguely smirking while squinting and asking out loud “What are you staring and smiling at”

Feeling slightly caught, Y/Ns cheeks light up as she moves from her current position on his bed to crossing her legs. Still sitting right in front of him, she smiles sheepishly, trying, but not succeeding, to laugh it off “Nothing. Mind your business Piastri.”Y/N responds tilting her head to the side again as she continues to look down at Oscar.

This causes Oscar to smile brightly, pushing up on his forearms and resting on them so he’s closer to you before he answers your sass “I think this is my business.” Staring into Oscar's eyes you chuckle lightly at his response to you, squinting at him, it’s so Oscar.

There are a couple of moments of silence before Oscar lets out a large sigh and a smile, causing you to roll your eyes as Oscar then sits up from his position on his bed so he can grab his textbook at the edge of the bed saying “Alright then.” before laying back down in his same spot (maybe slightly closer to Y/N, but who’s counting).

Opening up the textbook, Oscar flips through the pages before landing on the one he's looking for, he then looks back up at Y/N asking “Ready to start?”

Y/N stared down at Oscar for a couple more seconds, nodding ever so lightly, but instead of answering, in one quick motion, she leaned down from her position and grabbed Oscar's face softly before kissing him.

The kiss was so short Oscar didn't even have time to resonate that he should be kissing back before she pulled away.

Moving quickly, Y/N moved to sit up relaxing slightly, sitting more on her side, smiling timidly, until Oscar carefully, but swiftly placed his hand on her face and pulled her back down again, kissing her this time. The kiss only lasted a couple of seconds longer until they were pulling away again. The pair stayed there for a couple of seconds just looking at each other.

Both smiling like idiots, giggling softly, Y/N goes to respond to Oscar's previous question “Yeah, I’m ready.” She answers leaning slightly on him as she grabs her pencil, cheeks red and smiling widely.

Oscar chuckles along softly with her also moving closer to her before starting the project “Alright then, I think it's about time we talk about exploring the potential of biofuels for sustainable energy sources”

Coming back to his sad reality, Oscar opens his eyes to see Lando looking at him, almost on the verge of tears, yet jumping up and down exuberantly, before he goes to speak “Osc that's great news!” He finishes with a voice crack.

Oscar feels slightly weirded out by Lando's random burst of happiness over him and his ex-girlfriend he's never met and yet he also finds it comforting.

In an attempt to make Lando understand Oscar's situation more, Oscar tries to answer Lando “I mean not really at all, but thank you-” Oscar gets quickly cut off by Logan who is now looking at Oscar deeply offended.

“Oscar! I don’t get it. Your ex-girlfriend of three great years is here and you have the chance to rekindle it! You broke it off, and now you can mend it back up! Literally save the day!” Logan exclaims, which prompts Oscar to roll his eyes, annoyed by Logan's determination to solve this

“Logan you don’t understand. I broke it off for a reason” Oscar emphasizes, the guilt from that night starting to creep up on him.

Logan sees Oscar's growing impatience and decides to take it back a notch, slowing down for a second before responding to Oscar “You're right I don't understand. Why did you really break up with her? If it was so good then why did you end things?”

Oscar promptly goes to answer Logan “I-” Before stopping and huffing slightly, taking a couple of seconds before he decides to pull Logan and Lando further to the side of the still-busy club, making it easier for him to talk.

“I guess I was just scared.” Oscar lets out, staring back at Logan and Lando’s so far blank faces for a couple of seconds, before speaking again “I mean I know that's probably boring of me to say but, I was scared for me and Y/N to have a future together. All we had ever known was each other and I guess I just sort of started to wonder that maybe it would be best to live our lives a little separately.”

After that first sentence, the words just started to pour out of Oscar, it was easy for him to remember, he thinks about the night he decided more than he probably should.

FLASHBACK

Oscar sat there on the edge of his bed. He had just gotten out of the shower and was supposed to be starting on his AP English literature essay that’s due tomorrow which he had been pushing off recently.

But instead, he found himself just sitting there, thinking. He found that he often spent his life thinking these days, it felt like 24/7 to Oscar. Well you know, at least when he had the time to.

He was always thinking about something, whether he wanted to or not.

He was thinking about the hockey practices he needed to drill and nail down. If it wasn't hockey practices, it was the handful of college applications he had to complete, deadlines were coming soon. And of course, if it wasn't applications it was always Y/N.

And while yes in the first couple of years, Oscar never minded making Y/N one of his top priorities, now, it was starting to take a toll. It was Oscar's senior year of high school and instead of partying, having fun, and just letting loose he was always on edge, freaking out about his future.

He was nervous about his future in college, nervous about his future with hockey, and most nervous about his future with Y/N, recently he had just been thinking.

As he sits on his bed absentmindedly staring at his walls he feels his phone vibrate, looking at the message as it briefly pops up on his screen, Oscar sees Y/N's name flash across. Oscar subconsciously lets out a sigh as he stares at the screen until it goes black.

Lately, it’s almost like she's been getting on his nerves, Oscar just didn't know why.

Standing up abruptly, Oscar made his way over to his desk, picking up his backpack from the ground, and placing it on his desk. As Oscars grabs his notebook and textbook from his backpack the photos that he has had hung on his board since sophomore year catch his eye.

In particular, he focuses on the photobooth photo.

It’s a series of 4 photos of Y/N and Oscar on one of their dates, it was one of his favorites, it’s where he said I love you for the first time, cliche maybe, but it was perfect, kind of like them. Or at least kind of like how they used to be.

As Oscar stares at the photos of him and Y/N, he smiles ever so slightly, thinking of all the good times they’ve had before the small smile drops.

There his mind goes again, Oscar sighs heavily, he doesn't understand why he's having such trouble with your guy's relationship recently, he knows you guys fight, and maybe it's been more frequent than normal, but why has this relationship been such a strain on him?

It’s probably because it just turned into an unwanted cycle, Oscar calls Y/N and something about it makes her upset, Y/N goes over to Oscars and something upsets Oscar, and probably her as well. Everything was just starting to feel like a lose-lose situation and he wondered when this started happening.

As his thoughts start to rack up again, Oscar pauses grabbing his stuff from his backpack, and breathes slightly for a couple of seconds before moving to sit back on the edge of his bed.

He feels his phone vibrate again and he closes his eyes, thinking hard this time.

Oscar has had his eyes set on you since your guy's freshman year. Oscar has known he has wanted to be with you, for as long as you will allow, since freshman year. Oscar also knows that it has been 3 years since then and you both have grown, perhaps even differently.

Opening his eyes and turning his head. Oscar stares back at the photobooth photo, frowning slightly.

You two will be going to college soon and will be growing in so many different ways, so different that maybe staying together will hinder those experiences.

Oscar's thoughts feel silent for a second before he recognizes it, maybe that's what he has been feeling lately. Trapped in a box.

Going to college means new experiences, new traditions, new friends, and maybe even a new girlfriend? Or at least, experiencing the individual life. He doesn’t want another girlfriend outside of Y/N, he just doesn’t want a relationship at all in general right now.

That’s a new thought for him.

Hearing a faint noise from the kitchen, Oscar breaks out of his trance from staring at the photo. He stands up and makes his way to his bedroom door, heading to the bathroom before catching himself in the mirror that hangs on the back.

He was surprised to see watery eyes staring back at him when he looked in the mirror. After standing there for what felt like an eternity, Oscar let out a little sniffle as he nodded slightly to himself, almost in agreement with what he just decided in his head.

He knew what he, unfortunately, needed to do, it was time for new experiences, right?

Lando speaks this time trying to break through to Oscar’s overwhelming silence “Okay… So now we get that part Oscar, but still, can’t you at least just talk to her about all of this? Explain it to her maybe?” Lando tries to reason before Logan speaks up “And for all you know, it's been a couple of years, you two have both probably changed so much, she knows that.”

Oscar stares at the two as they try to sound hopeful for him, Oscar feels bad for shooting the two down so fast. They just didn't understand the levels behind him and you.

It came out of nowhere, she was so blindsided he didn't see how she could forgive him, he wouldn't.

After a couple of seconds Oscar sighs again before raining on their parades “You guys don't understand how it went down. You didn't see her face. I genuinely had never seen her so upset before.” Oscar winces as the memory replays in his head before sighing and continuing.

“And the worst part was that I was the one that caused it.” He regrets every day how it all went down, that’s not how he wanted you two to go out.

FLASHBACK

Oscar was currently sitting on the edge of his bed, again. Frozen in something. Fear, guilt, annoyance, he didn’t know.

What he did know is that after the revelation he made Monday, he decided on a plan for himself, now it was Friday night, and he had invited you over.

You were currently sitting on his bed as well, just much more relaxed, leaning up against his headboard, staring at him as he sat there on the edge.

See, Oscar about five minutes ago was just cuddling with you until he had to go to the bathroom, but then when he came back, instead of getting back in bed with you, he sat on the edge of the bed.

After about two minutes of silence, Y/N decides to finally see what’s happening

“Uh, hey Osc?” She questions as she moves from her position to sitting right behind Oscar, placing her hand on his shoulder blade and continuing with her question “What’s happening? Is everything okay?”

At the sound of her last question, Oscar closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath before opening his eyes and letting out his breath. Oscar turns his body to the side so he can look at Y/N. He sees her smiling small at him, with no clue in the world.

“I think we should break up”

Oscar watches clear as day as Y/Ns smile slowly drops, her face quickly turning deadpan “What?” She mumbles out, wanting to make sure she actually heard him correctly.

There is absolutely no way she just heard him correctly.

At the sight of her state, Oscar starts to panic and ramble “I just think that at this stage in our life, it would be best to live our own, individual lives and not be so caught up in each other.” Y/N doesn't say anything as her eyes rapidly start to water, threatening to spill as Oscar continues on, even more flustered

“I mean think about it, we haven't even actually been truly happy in a while!” Oscar exclaims still in panic. This last sentence causes all the tears to start coming out as Y/N quickly moves to stand up off his bed, roughly grabbing her backpack as she simultaneously wipes her consistently flowing tears.

Oscar quickly stops his overflowing words at the sight of the girl he loves grabbing all her loose items around his room, sobbing quietly, the weight of his actions now weighing on him.

The room is silent besides the clattering sound of Y/N picking up her stuff and Y/Ns muffled cries

“Y/N” Oscar mumbles out, she lets out another sob, standing still for a second as she turns even farther away from him, almost as if she were waiting for him to continue on. Oscar noticing her pause, takes the hint “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

She lets out a watery scoff at Oscar's weak apology, turning around and glaring at him slightly as she asks “You're sorry? You're breaking up with me. But you're sorry?”

Oscar can feel his heart breaking at the tone of her voice, all he can do in this situation is nod at the crying girl mumbling back “I am”

You stare at him for a couple of seconds more, tears still falling as you let out a short breath, shaking your head “God, Three years Oscar! Three years we’ve been together, literally through everything, and now all this” Y/N gestures wildly with her hands between the two “because you want to try new experiences.”

As Y/N finishes her emotional tangent Oscar can’t help but just stand and stare at her. This is so different to him, so… not them.

Oscar nods his head ever so slightly again, shrugging along with it, tired of having to constantly explain everything. Y/N stares at him for a little bit longer, almost as if she's taking in all his last details as if she’ll never see him again.

After about a minute Y/N lets out a short sniffle as she moves to grab her backpack from his desk, before turning back around to Oscar

“I hope you have the time of your fucking life.” Y/N states bitterly before walking past him out his bedroom door for the last time. Oscar quickly calls out in a moment of desperation “Y/N/!” But Oscar soon hears his front door slam close and lets out an unexpected breath.

It takes Oscar about three minutes until he decides to move from where he's standing.

At least that's how much time he thinks he was frozen, he wasn’t really paying too close attention, his mind was somewhere else. Oscar couldn't decide what he was currently feeling.

On one side, he was relieved, he felt like a weight had honestly been lifted off his shoulder.

But on the other side, Oscar was convinced he just lost the love of his life.

Oscar finally made the move to sit down opting for his favorite spot, the edge of the bed. As he sat down, he closed his eyes for a second and just breathed.

He felt okay, almost alright, it was a big step, but he was happy he went through with it, this was the first step to feeling better he just knew it. Or at least he thought he knew. Until he opened his eyes and looked to his right and there it was, as it always was, the photobooth photo.

That’s when everything came crashing down on Oscar.

He was so scared, so unsure of his own future that instead of leaning on the one person who would help him through anything to talk about things, he pushed you away, so far away.

In fact, he didn't push you away, he absolutely obliterated your heart.

You gave him three years, three challenging, yet perfect years, that he would never have changed for the world, and all he did to repay you was make empty promises and stomp on your heart.

Oscar felt like he was going to be sick.

“The worst part was the second she left, I regretted it immediately. I’ve never stopped regretting it actually.” Oscar states as he solemnly looks towards the floor.

Hearing no response, Oscar lifts his head up, raising a brow looking back at Logan and Lando, questioning their silence “What? No “How could you do that to her” or “You're right Oscar she should hate you”?” Oscar offers, still confused and slightly thrown off by their unnatural quietness.

Lando lets out a short chuckle as Logan starts back up “Look Oscar, you guys were kids! Literally, and you spent multiple years growing up together, it's normal to take breaks, and it's normal to make mistakes. I genuinely think if you just tried and talked to her it could actually work out pretty well for you” Logan bargains with Oscar as he looks towards the dancefloor having a clear view shot of her with her friends.

He lets out an unknowing, reflective smile as he sees her newer yet ever-the-same frame dancing around to the song. He looks back to Logan with a small smile on his face, somewhat content that he even got to see her after all this time. Especially looking this well.

“Look Logan… oh and Lando” Oscar off-handily gestures to the latter, Lando quickly bows his hand at the added sentiment

“I appreciate it, but I think our time has just passed. I had a great thing and I threw it away.” Oscar confesses “And while I don’t regret it, because I'm glad I've gotten to take this path in life and meet these people,” Insinuating to the two standing in front of him, which they both coo at, covering their hearts with their hands

“I do miss her.” He finally admits out loud “But hey, that’s life.” Oscar ends his speech with a small shrug in proper Oscar fashion.

Logan lets out a long “Booo” at Oscar's confession making him chuckle faintly before Lando steps in, bringing up the energy again.

“That’s alright man, we just want you to be happy!” Lando states as he throws an arm around Oscar's shoulder “Thanks, mate.” Oscar gratefully replies “Anything you want, we will understand-” Lando drunkenly and unnecessarily continues on before Logan sharply cuts him off, “I think he's got it, Lando.” Logan pats Landos back.

“And what I want” Oscar starts as he moves out from underneath Lando's arm, “is to go home and study. Alone. By myself. Just me and my playlist” Oscar clarifies to the two making sure they got the hint to which Logan quickly replies

“Yeah yeah, message received, get home safe dork.” He finishes as he ruffles Oscar's hair causing Oscar to let out a scoff and push him away as he replies “You too. Look out for him” He says as he throws his head in the direction of Lando who is already back to dancing before he turns around towards the exit.

Starting his journey through the perimeter of the club, Oscar narrowly avoids many drunk rando encounters, including an almost dangerous spill of some sort of brown liquor, before finally making it to the exit.

Just as he was about to leave, he heard the familiar tune. Oscar would remember those opening notes from anywhere.

More so Oscar would remember who he was staring at when the notes first actually meant something to him.

Stopping directly in his tracks at the so-called fateful revelation he just had, Oscar made a quick and easy decision. He briskly turned around in his spot and swiftly made his way back through the bar area of the crowded club, passing all the same strangers from the first time, before eventually coming out on the other side, slightly out of breath.

Who knew navigating through a club was such a workout?

Oscar immediately spotted Logan and Lando standing on the outer crowd of the dancefloor dancing weirdly, and he booked his way back over to them.

Slightly out of breath Oscar's pants as Logan exclaims towards him in confusion “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

Oscar goes to answer him but is quickly cut off by Lando also questioning “We thought you were going home?”

Rolling his eyes and still breathing hard from the fast walking, Oscar finally lets out a short “It's our song.”

Both of their faces stared back at him, scrunched in confusion, they didn't hear him over the blaring music, Lando obnoxiously yelled out in response “What?”

Oscar rolls his eyes yet again before yelling even louder this time “It’s me and Y/Ns song!”

This causes Lando to immediately gasp “Oh my god!” Lando yells in response as he starts jumping up and down “That has got to be a sign!” He excitedly starts hitting Logan repeatedly before he pushes him off, and starts asking Oscar in a wondering tone

“What do you mean by your guy's song? That’s very old-fashioned and almost out of date don't you think? Very not Oscar thing.” He asks raising his eyebrow, sort of caught off-guard that Oscar participated in something like that before continuing “I mean especially this song?”

Oscar briefly rolls his eyes before backing your guy's relationship up “Yea, Look, I always thought the same thing but she was always really into music and always so set on us finding a song. So I would always recommend some that made me think of her and everything but she always shot them down until one night we were out at a party, and it just clicked. And I got what she meant, every time I hear this song now I feel like I'm kind of transported to that night”

As the song continues playing around him he takes a couple of seconds to remember it clearly.

FLASHBACK

“Come on Osc, don’t be such a party pooper!” Y/N exclaims towards the boy as she throws her hands in the air.

It was a Saturday night and you two were currently at a random classmate's house party standing closely at the drinks table. Oscar was in the middle of pouring her and him a random mixed drink as she continued to plead and beg at him.

She’s spent the last ten minutes of the party trying to corral Oscar onto the dancefloor with her. She kept claiming to him that she was in serious need of dancing but she refused to go out there alone and he refused to go with her.

While she loved to dance and would do it anywhere, anytime, to any music, Oscar very much was the opposite. He found it awkward and it always made him uncomfortable. For her, he would always try and every once in a while, she could get a little dance out of him, although most times he just avoided the question altogether.

But tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights.

As Oscar holds out the drink handing it to her, sipping on his own, she continues with her tangent “I just don't see why you won't just go out there with me at least for one song! That’s all I'm asking”

She takes the drink from his hand, offering a small thank you as she goes to drink it, her throat burning from the strong taste causing her nose to scrunch up. Oscar smiles a small smile at her before rebutting

“It’s just not my thing Y/N, you know that” He responds ever so nicely causing Y/N to let out a little, sad sigh “I know, I thought I would still at least try” She smiles dimly as she chugs the rest of her drink before smiling at him

“Welp! If you need me, I’ll be on the dancef loor” She states, leaning forward to him slightly as she finishes her statement, giggling slightly as he chuckles along with “Alright now, be safe out there” He states watching her make her way to the dancefloor.

And that’s where Oscar spends his next five minutes, chilling against a random wall, sipping a way too strong a drink he made as he watches her dancing around with some random girls she just met.

Every once in a while she would look over at him and smile brightly, almost asking if he wanted to join her, to which he'd always do a small head shake and smile back in response. He was perfectly fine by the wall.

That was until the opening chords to Mr. Brightside started.

At first, Oscar rolled his eyes, he honestly couldn't believe that they were whipping out Brightside at this random ass house party. He wasn’t new to this song, he’s heard it plenty of times at parties, but it was never anything special to him.

That was until he saw her lighting up on the dance floor, jumping around at the opening chords, he remembered once before how she told him what this song felt like for her, just pure happiness, and now watching her dance around to it out there, he finally gets what she meant.

That's when Oscar realizes just how stupid he is for standing, leaning against a damn wall like a loser while his beautiful, amazing girlfriend is out there waiting to have fun with him.

He shakes his head at himself before quickly chugging the rest of his drink, throwing it into the trashcan, and making his way over to her on the dance floor.

“Mind if I join?” Oscar asks the simple question as he lands right in front of Y/N in the middle of the crowd, once she realizes it is him her face immediately lit up, exclaiming happily

“Oscar! You’re here! Just in time, I love this song” She yells, jumping up and down in front of him as he bops along softly to the song

“Do you really? I never knew.” He states smiling brightly as he watches her dancing around to the song.

What can he say, she and Mr. Brightside go along together really well.

Just as the pre-chorus was building she excitedly grabbed Oscar’s hands, still dancing around as she sang along to the chorus loudly “Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis” Y/N laughs loudly leaning into Oscar slightly, catching her off guard as he also starts to yell along to the chorus,

“But it's just the price I pay! Destiny is calling me!” He enthusiastically moves his hand as if it is a microphone between the two of them as they both yell out the rest of the chorus

“Open up my eager eyes! Cause I’m Mr. Brightside” Y/N continuously laughs as she continues to dance around with Oscar to the song.

She's never seen him like this, she wishes she could frame it on her wall and never lose this Oscar, he was perfect.

Staring at him with bright eyes she leans in slightly and yells out to him over the finishing song “Do you know what just happened?” Oscar curiously raises an eyebrow as he continues smiling at her, already enjoying what she's about to say.

“That just became our song” She blushes proudly as she does a little dance, happy that it happened to be Mr. Brightside of all songs.

Oscar laughs softly at her antics as he responds “I guess it did, I think I get it now.” He says as he gives her one last smile before leaning in quickly, pecking her on the lips, and continuing to dance around, both laughing hard.

“What a bummer man” Logan responds at the idea of Oscar feeling stuck in this song.

Again, Mr. Brightside of all choices? He did it to himself.

Until Lando abruptly shoves him to the side “No!” He states boldly, grabbing Oscar's shoulders, shaking them slightly as he gives his big speech of the night (this happens every time Lando drinks)

“This is what I call a sign Oscar. A sign from the world that you and this girl were meant to be. Please tell me, what are the odds that you run into Y/N at a random college club, let alone have your guy's song come on?” Silence overtakes the two, neither of them answering

“I'm for real Oscar, tell me the odds?!” Lando shouts shaking him harder, causing Oscar's eyebrows to knit in confusion, drunk Lando has lost him. “Lando, I don't know?” He states shrugging heavily before Landos yells at him again

“Exactly! Who the fuck knows and who the fuck cares! Go talk to the damn girl Oscar and make her fall in love with you again!” Lando finishes his tangent with a one-handed shove to Oscar, pushing him farther towards the dancefloor.

Oscar nods his head slowly feeling actually charged by Lando's speech, surprisingly, he's right.

Who cares, he messed up and he still misses you, why should he let this opportunity pass him when you're right there? Who knows when he’ll see you again?

“You're right Lando.” Oscar admits “Damn right, I am!” Lando exclaims loudly at Oscar's revelation “Not too much now” Logan states again patting his shoulder and pulling him back slightly. Oscar rolls his eyes at the comment but continues

“I’m going to go find her and talk to her.” Oscar confidently states starting to walk away to the crowd as the two other boys cheer him on before Oscar quickly stops and turns back around to face the boys causing them to let out a series of disappointing, but not surprised ‘ooos’ and ‘awes’.

Oscar smiles sheepishly before clarifying “Or at least just say hi.” Oscar reasons with them, Logan and Lando nod along to that, agreeing with him as they continue to cheer him on, whooping and hollering again as he walks away “You get that girl!” “We’re proud of you Oscar!”

Oscar chuckles to himself faintly as he makes his way back through the crowd once again, this time on a mission to find Y/N, especially before the song ends.

He thought it would take forever to be honest having to sift through all the people, but it didn't take him long to find her familiar blonde hair and smile.

I guess old habits die hard.

Once he spotted her he quickly made his way through the people, apologizing here and there before finally reaching her. He’s just lucky she had an empty pocket around her in the middle of the crowded club.

Oscar found himself standing directly behind her and after catching his breath for a second, he planned on tapping her shoulder. Well, if only he would just move.

He didn't know what was happening but he was frozen, just like plenty of times before, all his doubts were starting to creep in. He even started to wonder if he should just turn around and leave and he almost did

That was until somebody accidentally shoved the random guy standing right next to him causing him to slightly fall right into Y/N.

Well, shit. No going back now.

As soon as Y/N turned around her eyebrows immediately shot up and her mouth dropped open, and after about a second of stuttering she finally got out her question “Oscar?” Confusion and amazement all over her face before Oscar answers

“Y/N.” She immediately in return let out “Oh my god” To which Oscar couldn't help but agree “Oh my god is right”

As if she's double-checking a list of impossible things in her head she asks one last question “And Mr. Brightsides playing?” Oscar winces slightly but plays it off quickly “It is” Oscar responds sheepishly as the song continues to surround them, almost feeling louder now.

Did they turn the sound up in the club, or was it just Oscar?

After a couple of seconds, maybe minutes of silence Oscar and Y/N accidently speak up at the same time “Hi.” “Hey” The two mumble over each other, unaware of how to go about the unfamiliar awkwardness

“Do you want to step outside?” Y/N asks as Oscar nods his head rapidly and shyly responds “Yeah, that would be nice” She gives him a final nod as well then loosely, takes his wrist in hand, and makes her way, leading the two of them through the busy crowd.

As the two of them walk through the club to get outside, Oscar sees a glimpse of Lando and Logan who happen to be throwing him the biggest smiles he’s ever seen with big thumbs up.

Rolling his eyes, he picks up his speed ever so slightly so they can get away from everyone faster, he hopes she didn’t notice them.

She didn't.

She was too caught up in the fact that she was currently guiding her long-time ex-boyfriend through a club so they could finally talk.

As the two of them finally make it out of the club they just stand there for a couple of seconds, the now very sudden silence filling in all the gaps.

Y/N makes a move and sits on the curb of the sidewalk outside the club, resting her head on her arms that are draped over her legs, taking in the silence outside. This isn't exactly where she imagined her night going.

At the need of wanting to stay close, Oscar swiftly follows her as he moves to sit right next to her on the curb, staring at the building lights that surround them before turning his head to stare at Y/N who was also enjoying the lights.

Oscar can’t help but let out the softest smile at the sight of the same girl he grew up right next to.

Feeling his eyes on her, Y/N turns her head to face him as he's staring at her, ready to start the conversation that's been hanging in the air “Oscar” She starts slowly “Y/N” He responds.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, or ever again really.” She sheepishly admits to him before continuing on “What brings you here tonight?” She asks, wanting to at least start a genuine conversation before she asks him why he broke her heart.

Caught slightly off guard by the casual question, Oscar answers “Uh, well I was actually studying for a big midterm I have coming up but my roommates, Logan and Lando called me here in an emergency.”

This causes Y/Ns face to immediately change from listening to concerned, knitting her eyebrows together, placing her hand softly on Oscar's arm, ready to console “Oh my god are they okay?”

He blushes at the contact before stuttering “Oh yeah they're fine, don’t worry about them. They just didn't want me studying on a weekend, they get weirdly concerned for me.” Oscar embarrassingly admits, making a puzzled face as he confesses his roommate's overbearing protection as Y/N giggles ever so slightly in response.

“I didn’t know you went here.” She states boldly with slight confusion written all over her face, gesturing to the school campus surrounding them

“I mean I just never heard about it before when we were,... you know.” She awkwardly leads off, as he ineptly chuckles, rubbing his neck and explaining how he landed at this school

“Yeah I just figured I needed something completely new, try something out just for myself.” He finishes as he moves his vision from her to the road in front of them, feeling guilty for how he's sounding right now.

It's reminding him a lot of that night.

There are a couple more beats of silence before she decides to speak up “I get what you mean. That's why I chose this school too, a fresh restart, a chance to grow singularly.” She says with a slight smile

Oscar moves his vision back onto her, and smiles small at her, nodding along with her sentiments as he hears the growth in her letting out the smallest “Yeah.”

Maybe this time it can be different.

There are a couple of more beats of silence when they're just staring at each other before Y/N speaks up and finally asks the question

“Why did we break up?”

He feels his eyes quickly become glassy at the sound of her frail voice, he looks down quickly at the floor, sniffling before looking back up at her and finally explaining himself

“I got scared. I was being a stupid teenage boy and I threw everything away because I thought that I would find something better out there. I was being selfish and I broke your heart, and I’m so sorry.” Oscar lets out a genuine confession as he watches her face contort to the information.

Eyes watering even more she lets out a small scoff before saying something he wasn't expecting “You weren't being stupid Oscar. And you especially weren't being selfish.”

Finishing with a sniffle, Oscar knits his eyebrows at the sound of this and opens his mouth to say something before Y/N continues

“You did the right thing. You actually did a very brave thing that I would’ve always been too afraid to do. I knew we had issues, and I knew the second I left your room that you were right. We did need time apart to grow individually, it fucking sucked, but you made the right call.” Y/N admits as she looks upon him with a small, sad smile

“I just wish you would have talked about it with me and we could have made the decision together but hey, it seemed to work out well for the two of us” She finishes with a watery laugh as he nods along.

“I know, I should have, and I'm sorry I didn't. I don't know why I felt like I had to do everything by myself. But you're right, it seemed to turn out well for us.” Oscar states

“That it did” She repeats back to him smiling softly at him as she leans back against her arms resting on her legs

Oscar smiles back as he looks down at her, he speaks again quietly, almost in a whisper “I’m sorry again, you didn't deserve that, I regret it every day knowing that I made you upset like that”

Y/N takes in his genuine face, eyes flitting all around before smiling small and responding with a “Thank you, Oscar, I appreciate it”

He just continues to smile at her in response for a little before turning his head back to building lights, soaking in the silence he gets to spend just sitting here with her.

After a couple more minutes Oscar turns back to her to find Y/N fighting to keep her eyes open as she stares around her. This causes Oscar to let out a small chuckle as he asks her

“Should I uh, walk you back to your dorm” This causes Y/N to close her eyes, nodding sleepily as she responds to his offer “That would actually be great, thank you”

He chuckles at her state as he stands up before sticking his hands out to Y/N to help her stand up which she easily obliges before asking her

“So where do you live?”

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